


The Umbrous Knight

by Scarlet_Claws



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Art, Bad Ending, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Comic Relief Characters, F/M, Gods, Grimm is a bastard, Grown Up Knight, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Other, Post-Canon, Romance, Slow Burn, The Grimm Troupe DLC (Hollow Knight), identity crisis, minor side pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Claws/pseuds/Scarlet_Claws
Summary: A continuation to "the Hollow Knight" ending.The Dark Egg splits open under the hand of a fated warrior, marking the birth of a new God and the death of the old one. With the Radiance gone, perhaps it is time for the Realms of Dream and Nightmare to be united once more; Grimm, to make sure of that, must negotiate with the newly ascended Knight. His plan is simple: seduce this naive young God, one way or another, in the name of reclaiming his former glory.Or at least it would be simple if said God wasn'thidingfrom him.To add insult to injury, others stand in his way, bugs, Higher Beings, and even other Gods. Things are finally changing in Hallownest, for the better or the worse, and everyone wants something different, may it be power, knowledge, destruction... or love.
Relationships: Grimm/The Knight (Hollow Knight), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 155
Kudos: 269





	1. A Song for Elderbug

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a dream of flowers laid in front of the Black Egg, that I used as an inspiration for a one-shot (the first chapter of this fic). But of course, it's the eternal story of how one million words fanfictions are born: I wanted to expand it, just a little bit.
> 
> All artwork by me unless specified.
> 
> In case it wasn't clear, this is occurring post-game, after the "first" ending, meaning that the player character (in this fic referred to as "the Knight") has beaten the Hollow Knight alone, taken their place in containing the Radiance, and the player has put down their game forever. I generally consider that no boss that wasn't necessary to beat the game was killed, although there might be exceptions. 
> 
> A huge thanks to the amazing community around Hollow Knight. Without all the compiling of all this information, writing something about a game full of once-in-a-playthrough occurrences would be an absolute nightmare. And a huge thanks in particular to all the fan theories and ideas which are the soil on which I grow my own approach to things, except MatPat's theory. Please, MatPat, if you read this, don't try making another "breakthrough" theory about Hollow Knight ever again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the last day of his life, Elderbug goes to the Temple of the Black Egg, only to find it full of light. It's the Grubs, all of them, and they have come back to sing for the Knight in bindings.

The Elderbug, sometimes, liked to walk down to the Temple of the Black Egg. Before, when it was still dangerous, he never did, but now that the Forgotten Crossroads seemed to have quieted down, he found the walk pleasant. It stretched his old legs, and he spent it reminiscing about some of the things he had done in his life.

He wondered about the Black Egg, too. It gave off an odd aura, the type that might be offputting to others. But he didn’t mind. Maybe it had something to do about how often he was starting to think about his own death, lately. He could feel it sit atop his shoulders, weighing his every move, reminding him of the great abyss in which his mind was to end soon. He didn’t mind that either.

When he arrived at the temple that day, however, something was different. There were lights, and voices, and the dust had been stirred and still hung in the air. Surrounded in this light mist, the eyes of the temple seemed to glow, as if it had come alive. He stopped in his tracks, wondering if it was even safe to approach.

He laughed at his fear. Even if it was dangerous, what would anyone gain from finishing off an old carcass like he? His life would end, and that would be that.

He stepped in front of the door, peering inside.

His breath caught in his throat. There were bugs, the most gracious, the most beautiful bugs he had ever seen, their iridescent wings sending flashes of light as they reflected the candles, their hands full of flowers and shiny shells, their heads high like royalty. They moved like a swarm, their forms melting and blending into one another until they were one being whose shape he couldn't understand with his mortal senses. He was so struck that he had to lean against the side of the door as his knees threatened to give under him.

One of them saw him and cried out. He almost expected all of them to vanish instantly with the lights and the flowers, like apparitions, like _ghosts_. But instead they rushed to him, reaching to help him to his feet, aerial even as they burdened themselves down with his weight leaning against their shoulders. They felt real. Their touch was warm and their faces so full of light.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just so surprised to see you all... who are you?”

They didn’t answer at first. Speaking among themselves in a strange language he didn’t know, they ushered him to a seat. There was food too on a large table, it all smelled wonderfully good. Were they celebrating?

“My siblings and I wanted to express their apologies at having startled you,” suddenly said a lady among them, in his language. She spoke it with no accent. “We thought that this Temple would remain empty.”

He looked at her, taking in her features one by one (focusing on just her allowed him to do that, instead of being overwhelmed by their sheer presence.) She stood tall, with fluff on her chest. No mask, but a white cloak that let her spread her wings as she wished. And what wings! As large and tall as she, with motives and colours that changed with the angle, silver and gold and green and blue and red, filling all of Elderbug’s vision.

“Well, usually it is...” he looked around him, at all those beautiful bugs standing around him like angels. “Excuse me if I sound rude, but what _are_ you? I’ve never seen the likes of you before.”

This made them laugh.

“Just butterflies,” she said.

“Butterflies,” he repeated, amazed. “I’ve never seen butterflies before. I’ve heard of them, of course— Butterflies!”

She laughed. “We grew up around here! Although now we travel the world.”

“Grew up here!” Was she messing with him? He would have known if they had. He’s lived here for as long as he could remember and this was the first time he saw anything like them.

The others saw that he no longer needed their help. Reluctantly, they left his side, returning to their decorating, but leaving their sister to talk to him. She pulled a chair and sat down to be at his level, her wings rearranging behind her so that they would fold.

“Why, of course we did. We don’t stop for a rest just anywhere, although this place is special to us for more than one reason.”

She rose her head and fixed her gaze on the black egg in the centre of the temple. Illuminated as it was, it looked so different than usual, mysterious but glorious. There were many flowers and shells laid at its base, like offerings. Elderbug wondered where they had come from. Hallownest had certainly not hosted such an array of colours in forever. He wasn’t sure he liked it himself, but he could see it suiting the butterflies.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, drawing away from her thoughts.

“Oh!” She looked at him and smiled. “We’re celebrating. One could say it’s a thank you that’s well overdue, but we couldn’t find this place earlier— Perhaps it would be best if I told you the whole story.”

He crossed his hands on his stomach, interested, listening.

“Our mother died to birth us, as our species do, and our father raised us until the day we would come of age. However, before that happened, a terrible monster came to our home. One by one, it took us all, and our father was powerless to stop it, until we were all trapped away in glass jars hidden in all the deepest parts of Hallownest.”

“Oh, that’s horrible.”

“Yes, it was. Cold, and lonely, and scary. But a hero came and saved us, a knight of small size but with a great heart. They broke our jars with their nail, setting us free, allowing us to return home.”

Elderbug perked up. The description sounded familiar. He had not heard of them for such a long time.

“When we were all back, it was finally time for us to complete our final transformation, and so our father gave his life for us. When we emerged from his corpse, we flew out of Hallownest, setting on a journey, embracing our nature. We’ve seen many places, sung many songs, but we would always remember the knight that saved us. And so, we asked for a Seer to find them for us. She told us of this place, and so here we are.”

“The Knight is here?” Elderbug said.

“Apparently so. Inside this Egg. Or so we’ve been told.”

“But how? Why?”

“We don’t know. Perhaps they are preparing for their rebirth to become stronger than before. Like us. Or maybe they are not even here. Either way, the Seer said that this would be the place for us to rejoice, if anywhere, so we have come to thank them.”

They sat in silence. The butterflies, so beautiful and graceful, moved around them seamlessly. the Elderbug going over what he had just heard in his mind. And it suddenly struck him.

“You were the grubs,” he told her. “I remember your father coming to me for help."

"Oh, yes, that was us."

"Alas...” He shook his head. “I would have lended a hand when he asked but I was too old already and couldn’t even leave Dirtmouth. I would have never guessed that you were his children. You don’t look alike at all.”

“Oh, I know,” she said. “That’s how our species work. One generation settles down and makes a home, and one travels the world singing. This time, it almost didn’t happen because of that monster – some of my siblings we were taken because of what we were meant to become. It was as if... Hallownest itself was trying to keep us forever, even if it meant we would have to remain children.”

He nodded. “But, thankfully, this didn’t happen. Soon after the little one passed right by me and went down in Hallownest, and he saved you in the end.”

“You’ve known them?”

“Why, yes.” Elderbug laughed. “Just their face – not even by name, I mean. They are not as generous with their words as they are with their courage: you are not the only one that they rescued. A lot of inhabitants from Dirtmouth owe their life to them.”

“Really? Oh, you must—“ she rose to her feet, suddenly animated, her wings beating the air behind her. “You must join us. If you know them, then you are invited!”

“Oh, no need—“

But before he could protest, she was on her feet, calling to her siblings, and they flocked over. She told them about it in her language, he guessed, and about the fact that he knew the Knight too. The Elderbug could have protested but, before he knew it, there were a dozen more butterflies insisting that he stayed, at least for the singing, and maybe for the feast after, please, no, it wouldn’t be a bother at all!

So, he stayed.

His companion excused herself to help her siblings but he was very content just sitting there and watching them. They were wonderful creatures to observe, even when they did nothing at all. He had never seen anything like them, and so he could almost imagine that they were out of this world, not from beyond Hallownest, but further than that, the stars or the sky maybe.

He shook his head. What a foolish thing to be thinking, he sounded like Bretty. Oh, she would love this display, he was sure, and he regretted that she had left because he did miss her. Seeing so many things that filled him with such wonder had tired him, but in a good way; it was as if the weight on his shoulders had been lifted and he could feel his body for what it was – old, but having served him well, like a friend.

Another butterfly approached him, his wings fluttering in trepidation. “We’re going to start singing soon. Is there something you wish to do? Sit closer to the Egg, perhaps?”

“Oh, I’m quite happy right here. But I got to ask, why sing?”

The other laughed. “Why, Aëgis didn’t tell you? We are a choir. Or at least that’s how we earn our living when we are on the road. People seem to like it enough to let us live from it, at least, so I would say we are all right. It seemed only natural that this might be what we would do for our saviour.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.”

The butterfly laughed again, but was called over by the others so he left quickly.

They gathered around the Egg and their mood changed. There was no more fluttering and chatting, in fact, they all closed and lowered their wings under their coats so that they could stand close together, until they were nothing but a sea of white. Then everything became silent. Even the air seemed to still.

The first note, when all fifty of them opened their mouth at the same time to sing it at the top of their lungs, literally chased the air from Elderbug’s lungs. The temple resonated with it, as if it was too big for the great dome itself, and in its great leap for heights it crushed him utterly. From then on, he was unable to hold on, taken by the music itself like a leaf down a thundering spring river. When they quieted down, it was for a single female lead to stepping forward to raiser her hands to the egg. The lyrics were in a language he didn’t know, maybe a language as old as time itself. It felt powerful enough to be ancient.

He leaned back against his chair, closing his eyes to listen. He had never been exposed to such music before. There had been a few travelling bands that came to Dirtmouth in his lifetime, although they never stayed when they saw how small the town was. Never had he imagined such power, such raw grace too, as if it wasn’t fifty bugs singing but a great beast of sound rising above them, extending its starry wings to take flight, an eyeless god that no mortal creature could hope to understand. Sitting almost didn’t feel right: he felt the urge to get on his knees and praise the great spaces and mysteries summoned under the cramped dome.

He opened his eyes when they finished their song and started another. He was shocked to see that the magic wasn’t only a trick of his mind: there was _something_ about them, like a light he couldn’t quite see. Their faces were made even more beautiful from their singing, glowing with unearthly grace, unless it had always been there and he had been too distracted by all the colours around them to notice. At this moment, he grew persuaded that they had some sort of power.

He could have been sitting there forever, even if it was only for the duration of a few songs. Sometimes there were solos, sometimes there were three to four main voices, dialoguing with each other. Every piece was beautiful and, even if they sometimes had a happier tone – and even times where they opened their wings, inviting a myriad of colours to join them – they never lost grace, never lowered their gaze from the egg, as if they saw something beyond his own limited vision. He wondered if the Knight heard them. He hoped they did. It would be a shame if such beauty was for his ears alone.

And then came the end. He almost expected another song to start during the minutes of silences where they stood still, breathing. They were not expecting applause or praise, in fact it was as if they were slowly realizing that they had been standing in this empty Temple the whole time. Some fluttered their wings, shaking the rest of the magic off as if trying to return to what they were before, beings that could pass for ordinary bugs, but it was too later for Elderbug. He couldn’t unsee it.

“Oh,” one of them said as they all made their way to the table. “Oh, you’re crying.”

He wiped his cheeks and, indeed, they were wet. “Don’t mind me. It was beautiful.”

He clapped his hands for them but he felt stupid while doing it. He knew that they had not sung for him. It didn’t stop them from smiling at him, pleased by his praise, as they sat down all around him to eat.

Someone filled his glass; it was Aëgis again. She gave him a bright smile and he was glad that she was sitting next to him. After having seen what they could do, he didn’t know what he could say to them or even why they might want him around in the first place, so seeing a familiar face was a relief.

“To the Knight!” one of them, the butterfly at the head of the table, said as he rose his glass. “To our saviour!”

They all rose their glass with him and cheered. Elderbug did as well.

Aëgis tried to fill his plate to the brim with food, but he declined. “I’m an old, old bug. I barely eat anymore. But thank you.”

“At least try a little bit of everything, it’s all delicious. You have a long road ahead.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Dirtmouth isn’t too far away.”

She laughed at this, and he had the impression that the true meaning of her words had escaped him. He quickly forgot it when she placed some bite-sized samples of everything on his plate, and then he was busy trying everything as he listened to the conversations around him.

“What is that language you speak?” he asked.

“Ours,” Aëgis answered. “The butterfly tongue, that is. All the butterflies in the world speak it. But I also know the one of Hallownest because we grew up here.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Do you really travel the world? I thought one might lose their memory if they went beyond the kingdom’s edge.”

“Oh, yes, that is true that some might but there are ways. Pathways, if you will. None of us ever lost their memory.”

Elderbug nodded gravely. He remembered how Bretty had left for the wastelands. Where ever she was, he hoped that she had found those pathways.

That’s when he noticed that Aëgis seemed to be taking care of him, specifically, seeing that his glass was never empty, asking him if he wanted some more of such and such food. In any other situation, he would have felt embarrassed that a complete stranger would consider him so incapable that he couldn’t even eat a meal, but the feeling was different with her. It was as if she was _meant_ to take care of him, like a guardian or a mother would, even if she was much younger than him. He let her do. She seemed pleased by it.

He couldn’t get the singing out of his mind, the way it felt like so much more than what it was.

“I almost had the impression that you were singing for a God, back there,” he said.

“Really? Well, it is true that singing is sacred among our people. Some of my siblings like to think that _singing_ is our God. But I don’t think so. Sure, it gives us food and a goal to pursue, but there is nothing more to it. If it was, then I would like for that God to have a face, sometimes, and maybe give us some grand stories to sing about. Like battles! Every God has had fought great battles to become what they are, after all.”

He laughed. “Sounds more trouble than what it’s worth. I lived my entire life without a God.”

But then he looked back at the Black Egg, its featureless face, and remembered the choir gathered around it, in white with all their wings deployed. Perhaps Gods could be made from people’s desires to have one. Perhaps this was how you made one.

He shook away those thoughts. He was so old, and sometimes his mind became a strange place. He looked at everything with a detachment he had never experienced before. It was as if he still saw through his eyes but from further and further away inside of himself.

But he saw Aëgis from close, was aware of her, like she was there inside his head with him. He didn’t mind it and didn’t question it. She spoke to him and watched him but, really, she was staying with him more than anything. Waiting as he did.

The feast was wrapping up.

She stood and presented him her hand. “We are leaving. Will you come?”

“Ah, there are still some things I must do back in Dirtmouth.”

She didn’t answer that, she simply smiled. He took her hand and she helped him to his feet, and let him go.

There was a great ruffle as they all spread their wings. The light of the candles bounced off the colours, unless they were shining on their own. Either way, they filled Elderbug’s vision, dizzying him. And when they took off, they flashed on every side, the butterflies becoming a great kaleidoscope, like a siphon around him. And, in the centre, the only place that remained unmoving, was Aëgis’ face, smiling at him.

When he came to, he was laying on the ground of the temple. The candles, the tables, the food was gone, and so were the butterflies. But the flowers and the shells that had been laid at the feet of the Black Egg remained, gifts to the Knight, boon to Elderbug that confirmed it had been real.

Maybe.

He made his way to Dirtmouth slower than ever. His legs were heavy, but heavier still was the weight of his shoulders. And when he finally reached it, he was glad for the newly constructed lift, an addition that had been made to the village when the Infection dwindled away.

He told the others of his adventure. Of course, they didn’t believe him, not quite, but then he told them about the shells and the flowers that were probably all still there, and those that were suspicious could go and see it for themselves. This seemed to believe him a little more afterwards.

“Do you think that they will be back?” Sly asked. He was probably thinking about all the Geo they must have spent on a feast in the honour of an Egg, and if that Geo might not be repurposed for something more useful (like buying stuff from his shop.)

“I don’t know,” Elderbug said. “But I think they will. Hallownest was where they were born, after all.”

“Oh, I would very much like to see them,” Cloth said. She seemed struck with wonder. This made him smile. It was so rare for Cloth to get excited about something.

He made sure to say goodbye to each and every one of the bugs of Dirtmouth before going back to his home.

What does the old man think about at the dusk of his life, when he arranges his home? Does he look at each item, remembering how he got it, seeing it as if it was the first time he holds it? Does he remember the people that he loved and lost? Does he reminisce the glories past, his youth, whatever insignificant part he played on the great stage of the world? Only the old man knows, and those thoughts should be for him alone. The curtain fell, the show is over, and there is nothing left but him.

At the deepest time of the night, at the hour where the silence is only broken by the wailing of the newborn child, he laid his weary head on his pillow, to rest.

Aëgis came for him.

He opened his eyes. She was leaning over him, smiling, her wings open and, yes, they truly shone, and her face shone as well, full of light. She smiled at him and offered her hand.

He took it.

She pulled him to his feet and kissed his brow.

“Please, forget,” she told him. “There is nothing left in this world for you.”

She pulled him to the door, and he followed her. He no longer stood, he was weightless, following the pure white light of her wings.

He was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **World Buidling Notes**
> 
> In shamanism, butterflies are a sign of great change (metamorphosis). They are not necessarily a sign of death, but Hallownest is in dire need of change regarding the dead people situation. (That's my excuse for "forgetting" that grubs grow into beetles, not butterflies. But it's not like Hollow Knight have true-to-our-world bugs.)


	2. The Priestess of the Black Egg

Iselda sat on the step in front of her home, polishing her nail. Since Conifer had come back from the depth of Hallownest, having mapped every last bit of it (save for a few exceptions), they had stayed in Dirthmouth. He was the one that ran the shop now, selling to adventurers looking for their fortune down in the depth of the earth, while she...

Why, she had taken the blade up again and worked as an escort for those that needed safe passing. She also taught nail classes to those that had the Geo (not that they were very expensive.) She wouldn’t say that her life was perfect. But they were comfortable, despite the harshness of the land, and she was happy enough. Dirthmouth was one of those places where nothing seemed to ever happen, yet it stood right on the edge of an abyss where anything could. It fed on that anticipation.

Today, though, she wouldn’t be concerning herself with matters of the nail. She was just sharpening it, as an artisan should always with their working tools, and then she would put it back in its place and go for a trip to the graveyard. There was an old friend she wanted to visit.

She kissed Conifer on the brow when she ventured inside their shop. This drew him out of his concentration with a start. He always was so keen on his maps, this one, so prompt to becoming passionate. Right now, he was copying his originals on new papers, to sell. She was so proud of him. This was his life's work, as modest as it might be.

“You’re going out?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said as she placed her nail on its stand. “I thought I would go see Elderbug.”

He didn’t reply; she didn’t expect him to. He had not known Elderbug all that well, after all, because he had been gone for most of the old bug’s life when they stayed in Dirthmouth. She didn’t blame him for that, nor did she blame him for not feeling the need to visit his grave. She was a woman of tolerance and, understood that, even if they were married, they had the right to feel differently about things. 

She headed outside, passed the well that led to the Crossroads, and headed into the graveyard. She recalled Elderbug as she walked, remembered how he used to come in for a cup of tea on slow days and tell her about all the stories of his life. He had not lived many adventures but he had listened to many adventurers, and sometimes he was the last person to have seen them alive. He had been Dirtmouth’s living memory. She missed him.

There was someone standing at his headstone.

She was tall, almost as tall as Iselda herself, and dressed in white. Her antennas curled forward and her chin rested on the fluff of her chest as she looked down. Who was she? Iselda had never seen her before.

She turned around before the warrior reached her, revealing a breathtaking face.

“Oh, hello.” She smiled. “Please, don’t mind me. Just visiting a friend.”

“Oh, no trouble at all.” Iselda looked at the headstone, then at the stranger, and didn’t resist asking. “I’ve never seen you around before. Did you know him?”

“Not as much as I would have liked. We met only once, on the very last day of his life.”

“Oh.” This rang a bell for Iselda. “Oh! You’re... a butterfly. Aëgis?” She looked behind the stranger and, indeed, caught a glimpse of the colourful wings that were half-hidden under her cloak.

“Yes, that’s me. You have a good memory to remember that when we came back such a long time ago. And you are?”

“Iselda.”

“Lovely. Lovely name.”

“Thank you. Are... are you back with all of your siblings?”

“Yes, this time we are, for a special occasion. Not a thank you this time, or maybe it could be considered a thank you, but a different one – my sister and her husband are going to have a baby, and they wanted to raise it here.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.”

“Yes, it is. She’s so happy. I’ll miss her when I'll travel, but my time has not come yet.”

She laughed. Iselda nodded. She hoped to be able to raise a child of her own soon, now that it looked like they were ready to settle there for the rest of their life. She looked forward to having another expecting mother around here, and children too, so that her own little ones would have friends. Or so she hoped it would be so.

“Where will you be staying?” she asked. 

“We already settled for our old colony, in the Crossroads. Everyone is over there already, preparing the house. I took a moment to visit an old friend.”

“Wait... all of you flew in the Crossroad?”

“Why, yes.”

“When?”

She shrugged. “I would say a few hours ago, although it’s so hard to tell with how time is passing in this Kingdom.”

“Huh. I haven’t seen you or heard you go down at all. You would think that someone in Dirtmouth at least would have noticed.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s most... peculiar, isn’t it?”

Iselda gave her a strange look but Aëgis smiled and didn’t elaborate. Now that the warrior was taking a closer look at her, there was something about her that seemed otherworldly, yet she couldn’t quite tell what. It was as if Aëgis partly phased out of this plane and into another, or maybe it could be best described as a presence that felt like more than what the senses could perceive. Either way, having spent but a few moments talking to her, she could already tell that there was more to her than what met the eye.

“Well, I best be going,” Aëgis said. “I wouldn’t want to have my siblings say that I am purposefully avoiding all the work. Come and visit us if you have the time, I’m sure that my sister will be delighted to meet her new neighbours.”

“I will.”

And, just like that, Aëgis left her. It was when she was gone that Iselda finally noticed that there was something different about the graveyard. It took her a moment to formulate what, exactly had changed. She decided to describe it as a lacking heaviness, as if she was truly alone, having been left behind by people she knew without knowing. She felt sad without knowing why but, at the same time, when she breathed in deeply the air was purer.

The butterflies stayed, a single family at first, then every time they dropped by a few more that looked to raise their own children. They struggled greatly at first, their delicate hands and frail limbs were unsuited for the hard life in the Crossroads. But, strangely enough, their grub-children were sturdier, stronger and more resilient. Iselda marvelled at their size and strength as they grew older but quickly learned that they were not meant to ever become graceful like their parents.

Unless their parents took them in their own bodies and died for them.

The truth horrified her a little. She just had had a little girl and she couldn’t imagine herself eating her, let alone dying as her child emerged from her, reborn. But she kept those comments for herself. It wasn’t as if the butterflies had chosen to be butterflies, and such was their nature.

Despite their differences, she quickly became friends with Aëgis’ sister, that explained the process so on one of her visits:

“When the parent is a grub, and the child is a grub, then the parent can choose to make the ultimate sacrifice for their children. Our father did it for us because he believed that there was nothing left for us here, in Hallownest. With his sacrifice, he gave us the life he thought best for us.”

“And was it worth it?” Iselda asked.

“Yes, I would say it was. I would have never met my husband otherwise. I wasn’t going to marry one of my siblings!”

“Oh, thank Wyrm, I hope not.”

“And we did learn wonderful songs.”

Iselda nodded. When they had something great to celebrate, the butterflies gathered in the Temple of the Black Egg, feasted, and sung for the Knight. They always invited the people of Dirthmouth to join them too, and they were allowed to listen. It seemed that all butterflies and grubs were born with a wonderful singing voice and their choir was a spectacle worth the trip.

Also, Sly still wasn’t over the fact that they didn’t charge anything for it. Seeing him getting his mind blown every time made it worth the trip as well.

From time to time, when the swarm of butterflies came to Dirtmouth in full, Iselda saw Aëgis again. She was always polite but the truth was that the warrior didn’t really like the singer. It was obvious that there were more to the butterflies than what it seemed and it was their secret to keep if they wished. Aëgis, however, was the only one that enjoyed taunting other bugs with that knowledge, saying things that could only be half understood and half guessed and smiling when questions were asked. She was nice and surely didn’t mean any harm, but she was also arrogant. So Iselda didn’t speak with her much.

One of the things Aëgis always did when the swarm dropped by Dirtmouth was going to the Temple alone and fall asleep on the steps to the Black Egg.

She was a Dreamwalker, the strongest of her swarm and of many other swarms they had met on their travels. She had been trained by a great master in her youth, that had told her that her talent shone like a star and that she was meant for great things. She saw things her siblings, although also Dreamwalkers, could only dream of, like the threads of destiny that drew the world forth.

It was those visions that told her that she was meant to be here, that her life was tied to this Black Egg like the life of others were tied to their children. She didn’t know how or why but it would be revealed to her when the time was right. That’s what she hoped to find out each time she came, and her heart was heavy each time she left because she didn’t know yet.

Once in the dimly lit limbo of the Dream Realm, she would look up and see the Black Egg as it truly was: a Void. She had flown up to it, struggling against the powerful wind that blew down from it, but she had never touched it. It was a being, that much she knew, but a being so completely different than what she had ever seen that coming too close might be risking her life. So, she kept her distance.

Sometimes, if she was lucky, the surface of the Void shifted and a blinding column of Light pierced the limbo, if only for an instant. It was glorious, unlike anything she had seen before, yet she knew deep in her heart that it was nothing good. She had had visions, had seen the hatred in this Light for minds like the ones she had. It would pierce her, corrupt her flesh to get to her soul, and would burn through her for the purpose of making itself stronger. That much, Aëgis knew.

There was something else in the Void, something trapped with the Light. She had even fewer words at her disposal to define it than she had for the Light, only that it existed and didn’t at the same time. This presence she only sensed indirectly, like one feels a tunnel in the dark from the cold air blowing out of it. To think that something like that existed filled her with a secret terror, although she would never admit it to anyone.

But, even if she didn’t know what truly was the Black Egg, she knew about what could be done for it. Praising the Knight, reminding them of their past deeds, was good, or so she sensed. So, she wrote songs, and taught the grubs about their exploits, and sought out more knowledge about them. She told her kin of how they seemed to have come out of nowhere and had vanished just as quickly, how no creature had seemed strong enough to stand in their way. She told all the butterflies that they should never forget them, and reminded them that they owed their life to the Knight. And because she was such a powerful Dreamwalker, they listened to her and did as she said even if, officially, there were to be no leader in a swarm.

Eventually, she settled within the Temple permanently, waiting for destiny to come and visit her. They referred to her as the Priestess of the Black Egg, and as her name grew so did the people that sought her out, looking for a meaning to their lives they wouldn’t find anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **World Building Notes**
> 
> By the way, a butterfly cannot turn their own grub children into another butterfly because they wouldn't be able to "eat" them. And a grub can only be turned into a butterfly before a certain age, after which they reach adulthood as a grubfather or a grubmother. 
> 
> Aëgis didn't quite say it right when she explained it to Elderbug the first time around, as she was hinting that the process of turning a grub into a butterfly was automatic and necessary, but there can be several generations of grubs before a single butterfly is "born". Basically, the butterfly form is a travelling form, evolved so that a colony can more away when there is nothing left for them in a place.


	3. Lost at the Edge of the World

Okdros was a traveller, and he knew that his spot was not in the Mantis Village that had seen him grow. Despite his mother’s warnings, he kept venturing out, further and further, until he no longer was in the confines of his ancestral land but further in the Wastes. There, he had met a stranger, with whom he had talked instead of fighting. He wanted to _know_ what was beyond his land, what laid beyond his monotonous life of training and obeying.

The stranger spoke of the Coliseum of Fools.

From the moment he heard of it, he knew that this was where he was meant to be – where he was meant to die. He went back to his village, packed, and left without telling anyone where he was going, knowing that they would try to stop him if they knew. It pained him a little to think that he wouldn’t be saying goodbye to his mother, but just a little.

He travelled far, further than what he had ever thought he would, and fought many enemies on the way. He told himself he was simply getting better at it, that it was all in preparation for the Trials to come. To fight, and be celebrated! It called to him like an irresistible siren. In his dreams, he saw himself covered in glory and praise, the greatest warrior the arena had ever seen.

In his nightmares, he saw himself on the ground of the arena, covered in his own blood, dying.

Eventually, he arrived at Kingdom’s Edge, and started the long climb to the Coliseum. At first, he wondered why he was meeting so many species of scavengers. Then he came across the corpses. The many corpses of warriors.

He didn’t dare look at them, out of respect. In his tribe, dying while fighting was honourable, and those that did were brought to the Lords so that they may offer their bodies to the consumed by the mushrooms. Those that died of sickness or old age were thrown out in Deepnest, to feed the creatures there. He knew that those customs might be strange to the bugs that came from elsewhere and now he could start to realize how they felt when he told them about it. Was it the same feeling of disgust he felt when he saw the corpses of courageous warriors laying about, to be eaten or looted by the first one that came along? Where were their weapons, that should be left with them in their final rest? Had those been taken to be sold before the corpses were discarded?

But he wouldn’t suffer the same fate as they did. They were no mantis here, no one that had been trained in a village of warriors, that knew the things he did. He would conquer the Trials.

There was someone alive among the dead.

He stopped, shocked, when he heard a voice. A few more steps revealed a silhouette dressed in white right around a bend in the path. She stood along, singing in a language he didn’t know, and she was the most beautiful bug he had been given to see. As tall as a mantis, but the precision in her movements were replaced by grace. He watched her, having never seen anything like her before and unable to take his eyes off her.

She must have felt his gaze on her, for she turned around, yet she was still shocked to see him there. She stopped singing, her eyes wide in fear, her hands raised to the fluff on her chest, and her brightly coloured wings opened. Scared that she might fly away, he took a single step forward, his blades lowered.

“Please, don’t be afraid,” he said. “I was just listening. I mean no harm.”

She studied his face intensely, trying to discern if he was sincere before she slowly lowered her wings. He approached her a little more and she let him, but still watched him.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said. “Are you from around here?”

“No.”

So she did understand him. He felt so happy that she answered him. He wanted her to talk to him, wanted her to look at him. Even if she wasn’t a mantis, she was very attractive. He had seldom been so pulled to someone as he was by her.

There was a silence as she watched his face some more, then she seemed to relax entirely. Her wings disappeared under her cloak.

“No, I am not from here,” she said. “And you neither. But I still have some duties here.”

“Duties? Are you employed by the Coliseum?”

He regretted asking that question immediately. Her face hardened instantly as she heard the name and she balled her face.

“Wretched place,” she said. “I wish it didn’t exist, but it does.” She softened there; her anger as quickly gone as it had come. “I receive no money for my duties, or any reward save for the satisfaction of a job well done. Rather, one could say that I have taken upon myself the duty that no one else would accomplish, when I have the time of course.”

“Oh. What is that duty, if I may ask?”

“Why, guide the dead, of course.”

He must have made a face because she laughed.

“Of course I do. Here, in Hallownest, the bugs forgot how to die. So, when they are dead, I go around and see if anyone needs help to find the way. There are many that need it around here, as you can see.”

“You... talk to them?” Was she mad? He hoped she wasn’t. It would be such a shame for someone with a face like hers.

“Yes. I talk to them, I reassure them and send them on their merry way before the place gets crowded by so many ghosts. Many of them didn’t even see their own death coming in the Coliseum and I am the one that tells them the news. It is the most excruciating part of my task.”

“Sounds tiring.”

She shrugged. “Someone must do it. And you? I suppose that you are here to challenge the Coliseum.”

He puffed his chest with pride. “Indeed I am.”

“Then I’ll see you again soon.” Her smile was sad. “I would stop you from going if I knew the words, but no one ever listens to a butterfly like me, that knows nothing of fighting. I suppose it’s something I could only understand if I did.”

“Indeed, you’ll see me again, but you won’t be guiding me anywhere. I’ll be coming back as the _winner_.”

She laughed, bittersweetly, but she _laughed_ , and, if that wasn’t the most radiating sound he had heard in his life, he didn’t know what it was.

“I see,” she replied. “You wouldn’t be the first telling me that.”

“But I’ll be the first that holds my promise.” He turned around to leave, a new fire burning in his heart. “Just you wait.”

“I won’t be going anywhere anyway,” she said.

It was only when he reached the gates of the Coliseum that he realized that he had not asked for her name. Not that it mattered. He would ask her later.

He delighted seeing the surprise on her face when he came back. He was still shaking from the high of the fight, even after having stopped at a shop to get... a few things but, otherwise, he had come straight back to her.

“You’re alive,” she said.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I told you so!”

She shook her head, but she was smiling as she did so. He was glad to see that she was happy to see him. In his heart, he wanted it to be because she thought about him the same way he did about her, even if he knew that it probably wasn’t the case. But would it be if he kept winning, and kept visiting her?

He stepped close to her, pulling a small box out of his travelling bag.

“This is for you,” he said.

“For me?”

She took it. Opened it. Inside was a beautifully chiselled pendant, attached to a chain, that seemed to be some sort of stylised curved sword. He had picked it for her because he thought that it reminded him of his own blades and he hoped it would be the same for her, too. At least she seemed touched by the gesture: her cheeks were tinted with a lovely shade of red, and she wasn’t smiling at him as if he was amusing (but not to be taken seriously.)

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Usually, in my tribe, where I come from, you offer a trophy from the biggest, most dangerous beast you can come across, but I don’t think that I would be allowed to do that. Besides, I don’t think you would like getting another bug’s head, so, erm, I didn’t. But I took this instead, with the money from my win, so I suppose that it’s the same thing with additional steps.”

“Who... who do you usually offer trophies too, in your tribe?”

This time it was his turn to become all red in the face. “Ah, well, err, to... to the people that you want to offer them to.”

She smiled at him and waited, _knowing_ that there was more to it.

“And, well,” he continued, feeling as he wanted to crawl in a hole to hide, “those people are usually the ones you, erm, _like_. But also family.”

“But I’m not your family.”

“No, you are not.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, all the pride he had grown from his triumph gone in a snap. He should have kept his big mouth shut, this _one_ time. Now she knew that he liked her. Oh Wyrm, did she think that he was weird now, for trying to impress her after he had met her once?

“I believe you didn’t tell me your name yet,” she said.

“Oh!” He perked up, latching on the opportunity to change the subject. “It’s Okdros.”

“Okdros? What a coincidence. It means handsome in my language.”

“Really?”

“No, but after looking at you it does for me.”

He felt his cheeks burn again when he realized that she was flirting with him.

“A-and what’s yours?” he asked.

“Bellrina.”

It was a beautiful name; as beautiful as she.

He didn’t know that Bellrina was awake until she turned around in his arms, looking up at the roof of the little house he had bought for her with his earnings from the Coliseum. It was small but richly furnished, full with everything she had ever wanted, and more. She was often embarrassed by how much he spoiled her, but what else would he do with the Geo? It wasn’t as if he needed it himself, all he wanted was her love and the glory of the arena.

“My swarm left Hallownest,” she said.

“What?” He was only half awake, almost lured to sleep by the feeling of her warm body against his.

“My swarm. My family. They are gone.”

“What?” He rose on an elbow. “But why?”

She turned to him, smiled, and placed a hand on his cheek. “Don’t worry. They will be back. They travel a lot; they were only staying for a little while. They came to me in a dream last night and told me that they were leaving.”

“And what did they say?”

“That I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered.

They kissed.

“When will they be back?” he said.

“I don’t know. Whenever some more of them feel the need to settle down in Hallownest.”

“I would like to meet them someday.”

“Well, that can be done. A few of my siblings are raising their children in the Grubnest, not too far from Dirtmouth, and my sister Aëgis practically lives in the Temple of the Black Egg now.”

“Wait. Aëgis, the Priestess of the Black Egg? She’s your _sister_?”

“That’s what she goes by now?” This didn’t seem to please Bellrina, for some reason. “That sounds like her all right. But yes, she is my sister. If you wish to meet her, you can.” 

He kissed her, pacifying her. “I want to know them all,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m sure I will like them because they are related to you.”

She chuckled. “You say that, but I know that you’ll never leave your Coliseum.”

“I mean it. And one day, I know, the Coliseum won’t have anything left for me to conquer. When it does, we can leave, and move into that Grubnest, or in Dirtmouth if they don’t like having a mantis like me around.”

“Oh, you mean it?”

“I promise.”

She glowed with happiness. This were the words she had wished to hear, more than anything in the world. And then she thought about something.

“But what about your family?” she said.

“Mine?”

“Don’t you want to visit them too, sometimes? Don’t you miss them?”

He felt his good mood darken at the thought. “My family would try to kill you. They don’t understand anything from the outside world and they don’t want to. All they think about is their fighting, and their skill, and their honour.”

“Well, you too, you only think about fighting and skill and honour.” She stroked his cheek. “Aren’t you the same?”

“I’m different from them. I love you.”

She laughed. He looked into her eyes, her wide, beautiful eyes, and got lost in them. And then, slowly, with every bit of love he felt, he got lost in her.

“I won,” he told the surgeon. “I won, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, sure buddy. Last one standing. You won.”

“I won,” he repeated fervently. “Bellrina will be so happy.”

It was over, finally over. There were no more challenges the Coliseum could throw at him, nothing he had not done. They could leave and live the quiet life she dreamed of.

“Who’s Bellrina?” the assistant of the surgeon asked.

“I don’t know,” the other replied. “A lover, probably.”

“She’s going to be my wife,” Okdros told him.

“Stop talking,” the surgeons said. “And bite this when it hurts.”

He shoved a piece of hard sponge in Okdros’ mouth. It tasted of its previous user’s blood.

The assistant lifted the sheet on him but quickly looked away, before going to prepare some tools for the operation. The surgeon came after to look as well and his gaze didn’t waver, but it was cold, professional. He tutted.

“What a shit job,” he muttered. “Curse you, lord Fool.”

“Sir?”

“Let’s get to work. I would hate being the one to thank for saving up on this fool’s reward.”

“Right away Sir."

When he came to, there was no more pain. He rose and sat on the bed, looking down. His chest and stomach were all stitched up neatly. Surgery! What a wonderful science, he thought, even if at some moments he felt as if he was being dragged through thorns and needles. But it was over now, and he could go back to Bellrina. He had thought of nothing but her the entire time.

He stood up and left. He would have thanked the surgeon if he could, but he was nowhere to be seen. Not that it mattered. He would do so later. And then he would also collect the reward money. With that, he could live comfortably for the rest of his life, without ever having to work again. He was going to give her everything she deserved, and he was going to ask her to marry him.

He felt so light as he walked the way to their home. To see her face again! Even if he had only left a few hours, being apart from her was always sweet torture on his heart. Never had he felt more in love than this moment.

He stepped through the door. She rose her head from her needlework, took him in, and became very pale.

“Don’t worry!” he told her. “Those are just scars. They don’t even hurt, they took good care of me.”

She dropped her work and her needle to the ground to cover her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

“Bellrina?”

She stood up. Walked closer. Passed her hands around his hips to rest her head on his chest. He felt the tears soak his shell and the tremors of her shaking body.

“Bellrina! I’m okay.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “Look at me. No need to cry. I’m okay.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re dead.”

The words sank in his chest like knives, filling him with cold.

“No,” he said. “I’m not dead.”

She shook her head against him. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. She didn’t scream, didn’t sob, but she was shaking all over and he was powerless to stop it, no matter how tightly he held her. He wasn’t dead! He couldn’t die. Not now.

She stepped away from him, pushing against his chest until he let go of her, and rubbed her cheeks dry. As he watched her, it slowly dawned upon him that it really was over for him. He felt weak, almost fell; she was the one that caught him and kept him steady until they sat on the bed.

He didn’t cry. She drew his head to her chest, letting it rest there as she gently petted his skull, and hummed a song. He recognized the tune she so often sang when she was among the dead, bringing peace to their souls. He held on tightly to her. A part of him hoped that she would let him stay, that they could simply go on like this, but another knew that this was impossible. All dead were equal; all dead must move on. She had told him so a thousand times.

She kissed his brow.

“You must go.”

He shook his head.

“Come. There is nothing left here for you.”

“No. No.” He shook his head even harder, closing his eyes shut. “There’s you. I love you.”

“Please.” She stood up, forcing him to let go of her. “Don’t make this harder than what it already is.”

He looked up to her. Her cheeks were soaked with tears again, but her voice was calm.

“You’ve always been so strong,” she said. “Please, be strong one last time. For me.”

There were a million things he could have told her then. Not to this face. He loved her too much to be weak. So, he stood up as well, took her hand, and followed her outside their home.

Except it wasn’t Kingdom’s Edge anymore. They stood hand in hand above a sea of light, a sea of Soul, the great pool from which all creatures are born. She was flying, her wings made of pure light rather than matter, a beacon he followed until the end. Looking around made him feel at peace. He still didn’t want to leave her behind, still feel so torn, yet he knew that it was soon the end of all his suffering.

She turned to him and kissed his brow. Even when he wouldn’t love her anymore, she would. And she would miss him.

“I can’t go any further,” she said. “You must go on your own.”

He nodded. Kissed her on the lips one last time. And then he let go of her hand and flew to the light.

He had not flown since he was young, he realized. His last thoughts were for his village, left behind a lifetime ago, the simple times of his childhood under the watchful eyes of someone that loved him more than anything.

“I’m sorry I never said goodbye, mother,” he said before vanishing in the light.

When she entered their home one last time, Bellrina felt weary, so very weary. This place had brought her such joy. Now, that same joy gave her only pain, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in the sheets and cry the world away.

But she couldn’t yet. There were yet things that needed to be done.

She packed her bag. She didn’t get anything more than what she needed, leaving behind all the lavish and cumbersome gifts he had bought for her. The only thing she kept was the first pendant he got her, the curved blade that always reminded her that his heart belonged to battle first before it belonged to her, no matter how blind he had been to this fact. The rest would be left here, to be pillaged when some bandits would realize that the house was empty. It had all come from the Coliseum. To her, they were just as empty as its promises of fortune and glory.

Then, when she was sure that she would be taking nothing more, she hurried to the pile of silk blankets that she had left near the fire for warmth. She wrapped a sash around her chest then leaned in to pull the covers away. There was an egg, golden, semi-transparent, and smooth. She had laid it while he was gone, ready to say nothing of it if it was stillborn, but it was alive. When she lifted it carefully to look through it by transparency, she could see its tiny beating heart. Not yet a bug, but the promise of one.

The child he would never know about.

She closed her eyes, willing her tears away, and slipped the egg in her sash, against the warmth of her chest. Then she stood up, adjusted her satchel one last time, and left the little house without a single glance back.


	4. The Education of Faïda

Dawn shall break!

Eternity is but an illusion. A foolish illusion! The Pale One was a fool.

A fool! An eternal fool!

The Knight is a fool. I will destroy and consume it like I would have its sibling. What were they all, to oppose _me_? To deny me! To forget me!

 _I_ am eternal!

What does it matter to me if it scrapped my immortal flesh? What does it matter if it fights me? I am the Radiance.

I shall _triumph_!

Bellrina chose the very far end of the Grubnest as her new living place for a reason: she didn’t want anyone to come and talk to her. So when Aëgis, the Black Egg Priestess herself, passed her front door, she wasn’t very pleased.

Even if she knew that this moment would come, eventually.

They stared at each other instead of any semblance of salutation. Just because they were sisters didn’t mean that they got along, and that reason was simple: if Aëgis wasn’t so insanely powerful as a Dreamwalker, Bellrina would be the one filling her spot within their swarm. But it wasn’t the only reason. Bellrina thought her sister to be too prideful, too greedy for recognition and power, to the point where she would push away those that tried to secure even a shimmer of it for herself. She failed to see her own jealously and how she was just as responsible as Aëgis when destroying their once loving link as sisters sharing the same talent.

“They said that I might find you here,” Aëgis said.

“Well, here I am.”

“You haven’t come to visit me.”

“I have not.”

“How long has it been? A month? Two?”

“I heard that you call yourself the Priestess of the Black Egg, now.”

“It’s not...” She pinched the ridge between her eyes. “I don’t call myself that. It’s just that I would rather live in the temple now, so they made the association...”

“And you didn’t stop them.”

“Should I stop them? I know I honour no God. Let them say what they say, and pay them no mind. As I do.”

“I was sure you would say that.”

“Listen, if you are so sure—“ She stopped herself from continuing that sentence and breathed in deeply. “I’m not here to fight you.”

“Then what do you want from me, Aëgis?”

“I would like to see my niece.”

Bellrina considered it for a moment, but Aëgis _was_ family, no matter their differences, and they weren’t in terms so poor that it could justify refusing that request. Yet it was with reluctance that she went to the back of the single room of her home to pull away a curtain, revealing a crib.

Aëgis approached it, her shadow falling on the small sleeping figure within. Both sisters were quiet for a moment as they took in the newborn.

Daughter to a butterfly, she would never look like a grub, this much was clear already. Even if her shape was the short, chubby one of all larva, the sharpness of feature already reminded Bellrina of her father’s face. There was not even telling whether she would live or not: a live hybrid child between a mantis and a butterfly was unheard of. This was Bellrina’s greatest fear: to lose the last piece of Okdros she still had.

Aëgis, hesitantly, reached into the crib to pull down the blanket so that she could take a better look at the larva’s face.

“What did you name her?” she asked.

“Faïda.”

“A fine name. It will do, I suppose.” Beat. “She will never look like a grub.”

Bellrina struck her. She regretted immediately when she saw her sister stagger and hold her hand to her cheek with a shocked look on her face. But she pushed on.

“I will not tolerate you insulting my child in my own home,” Bellrina spat. This was the first time she spoke to Aëgis with so much venom: up to this day, their conflict had always been contained, like smothering cinders under a layer of ash. “Leave, if that is what you wish to do.”

Aëgis’ face hardened and she stood straighter, her feet firmly planted in the ground. “But it is the truth, Bellrina, whether you like it or not. Calling it an insult will make her weak.”

“Weak? She has no use for _your_ methods. What do you know of the education of a child?”

“More than you! Stop with those childish complains, Bell! I am not here to fight you.”

“Then why—“ It dawned upon her. Bellrina stepped between her sister and the crib, her body hunched like she had seen Okdros do when he was about to strike a beast. “What have you seen?”

Aëgis looked down on her like _she_ was the beast. The Priestess seemed to consider whether or not she would tell her what she knew, but she eventually decided for it. The choice was easy, after all: it was that, or Bellrina would be showing her the door, forcefully if she had to.

“I have not seen much. But her destiny is linked to the one of the Black Egg, like mine is. I _will_ make sure that she grows to her full potential.”

“What about me? You have no claim on her, Aëgis, no claim more legitimate than the one of a mother. And she will have nothing to do with you if I have anything to say about it!”

“Bell, please. There are greater things at stake than our petty disputes!”

“Like what, your _reputation_?”

“Even greater than that.” Her voice was suddenly quiet, yet carried a great strength. She had grown into her power as the years went by; suddenly Bellrina heard that in her voice, and it filled with awe, compelling her to listen. “I don’t know what it is, Bell. I wish I knew, so that I could tell you, but I can’t. There are forces in this Egg you and I can only dream of. All I know is that this child is one of the keys needed. Keys to what, I don’t know. But she’s been placed in our hands for a reason. A child that is both a warrior and a dreamer... Can you conceive what sort of plans destiny might have for her? And what might happen if she is not up to the task?”

Bellrina didn’t know what to answer. She relaxed, slowly, and looked back at her child. How could something so tiny be everything her sister had just said? It seemed impossible that this should be true.

“So what now?” she asked.

“Nothing. For now, she grows and she becomes stronger, and that is all we can do. But I thought that you should know.”

“And now I do.”

“Indeed.”

“Please leave my home.”

Pain flashed across Aëgis’ face, and for a moment Bellrina felt guilty. Perhaps there was some way to repair the broken links between them, if only she did the first step. To go back to the closeness they had when they were children...

Aëgis’ face hardened again, taking on the mask of the unflinching Dreamwalker she posed at, and the moment was gone before they knew it.

“I will,” Aëgis said. “But I will be back.”

She left, her cloak flying behind her, and Bellrina found herself along with Faïda once more. Slowly, the mother walked to a chair and sank on it, staring at the sleeping figure of her child. There was nothing in the world she wished for more than seeing her grow safe and carefree, as any child should. Yet she knew that her wish was a foolish one: on the small brow of Faïda rested the invisible brand of destiny.

Again and again, she drowned the Knight in her light.

Again and again, they came back to challenge her.

She was a _God_. There would be no darkness before her. No one, no one to create a shadow in the face of her light! Not a will, not a single spec of dust! She would not tolerate it. She would _never_ tolerate it!

She had torn down stronger foes than this Knight. She had ripped apart beings whose powers they could not fathom.

She had destroyed her own brother.

She had written her name in the very fabric of the world, putting herself in its very centre. What was there to understand? She was the Radiance.

She was, she _was_.

Iselda sighed as she leaned against her spear. She was being paid richly for her troubles, she knew, but the effort of constantly being on her guard to defend her charge was taking its toll. She was starting to think that it was time for her children to take up the mercenary work that she provided for Dirtmouth, even if they were too young for the task.

At least they were coming in view of the Mantis Village, now, according to the few old signs she had to practically scavenge from the living mass of mushrooms around them. This would mark the halfway mark of their journey, the last thing left to do would be for them to return to Dirtmouth.

Thank Wyrm for the Stag stations or they would have had to walk the whole way.

They came across the first mantis during a short rest at one of the acid pools in the endless galleries. He stopped when he spotted them, claws innocently crossed in front of his chest as he processed his shock. Then, as expected, he rose them in a battle-ready pose.

Iselda answered in kind. She had never fought a mantis before but she knew that they were quick, quicker even than what one would think for a bug their size.

“No,” Aëris said, standing up.

She stepped in front of Iselda fearless and, to her credit, the mantis paused. She lost no time in spreading her arms wide, showing that she wasn’t armed. Iselda glanced back at the third member of their party, to make sure that she wasn’t being ambushed while everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere.

Faïda, dressed in the little red cloak her mother had sewn for her before leaving, stared open-mouthed at the first of her kin (on her father’s side) that she ever got to see. To everyone that looked at her, it was obvious that she was no grub: she was tall for her age, having shed any chubbiness long ago, and vestigial wings still clung to her back. Yet, it didn’t mean that she had nothing of her mother’s side, even if one would have to study her rapidly growing strength to see in which way she was related to the grubs, burrowers of tunnels and workers of the earth. The blows she could deliver when wielding a nail could even surprise an adult unprepared for it. Iselda knew: she had been the one training the child, until Aëgis had decided that she needed more.

“We have come to your village to speak with your leaders about a matter of the uttermost importance,” Aëgis said to the mantis. “Let us pass at once, or deliver a message of our arrival that would guarantee safe passing.”

The mantis seemed to consider it for a moment, before raising a claw to strike once more. Iselda braced herself.

“At _once_!” Aëgis cried.

She opened her wings wide and flapped them downwards, blowing back the mantis. The warrior stumbled and fell, then looked up as the butterfly.

“I understand that you do not attack your kind,” Aëgis continued. “If you need a reason to spare us, here is a child of the Mantis Village, although she has mixed blood. It is her fate that we wish to discuss.”

The mantis got back on his feet and seemed to noticed Faïda for the first time, unless he had before and had dismissed her on the account of her being a child. He approached them to take a closer look. Aëgis stepped to the side but Iselda stopped him with her spear across the last steps of his path.

He glanced at her, his face unreadable, and turned his attention to Faïda from where he had stopped.

“She has no claws,” he remarked. “And all of our young can fly. Is she really what you say she is?”

“My word should be enough,” Aëgis answered. “Although if you chose to doubt it, her father’s name was Okdros, and I believe that he has left your village to never come back.”

The mantis’ mouth dropped in shock as his eyes went from the butterfly to Faïda, then fixing themselves on Faïda’s face once more.

“Okdros,” he repeated. “Yes. I can see him in her face now. Okdros. By the Sisters...”

“Will you bring us in front of your leaders now?”

“I will have to.”

I am the Radiance!

Perish, foul creature.

Perish!

There shall be nothing restraining me!

Can’t you see that the more you fight me, the more I resist you?

Can’t you see that your struggle is pointless?

See it!

I am truth! I am—

I am eternal!

The three Mantis Lords stared them down from their throne.

Iselda would admit it, Aëgis had an impressive presence when she wanted it, enough to intimidate any she wished to, but the three sisters were on a whole other level. Where Aëgis drew her power from her knowledge, the Lords carried themselves with the assurance of beings that could and would kill, as surely as fate itself. If they so chose, they could massacre the three of them right now, and they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

But for now, they listened to Aëgis that, to her credit, seemed wholly unafraid of them.

“I humbly request that you take this child in,” she said. “We have raised her to the age she is at now, and I have shown her the arts of singing and dreamwalking that are the mark of our race, but half of her is warrior, and warrior she must become, in the way she was meant to be.”

The Lords glanced among themselves. How many years had they occupied those thrones unflinching, a force unmovable against Deepnest? How many times had they flung the spear at their side to claim a victory? They were like the cliffs stopping the tumultuous violence of the sea, and the fate of Faïda was to be decided by them! Iselda feared for the little mixed child.

The one that sat on the middle throne stood up.

“We see your reasoning, Priestess of the Black Egg, and we understand what you want from us,” she said. “However, we cannot accept as it is. We can already see that the child is in age of sprouting wings, yet she cannot fly. We see that she has mantis in her blood, yet she has no claws. We raise our children from birth to be warriors in the way that is meant for them to fight; this is what makes our strength. What can we teach to a child like that? An orphan in the Ways of the Strike? For she still has her mother, but no _mantis_ parent, no one here to take care of her. Should we give her a home of her own and tell her to fend for herself? Should we let her hunt her own prey, do her own cooking, defend her own spot and honour against children both stronger and more skilled than she? We are no tender race, that much I thought you surfacers knew, yet you come to offer us a child. As much as we wish to see all the members of our tribe united in one home, we cannot permit her to learn our ways without protection.”

Aëgis kept quiet, taking in the rejection. Iselda wondered how many had dared to say no to her. Just like that, the Lords had earned her respect.

“Wait a moment.”

They all raised their heads. The audience chamber of the Lords was built like a fighting pit, and all the members of the village that wished to observed was perched on the sides of the wall, hooked or leaning over the side. They parted to let a mantis pass, one that seemed aged without having yet faltered. From the way the others respectfully bowed to her, she had skill in combat.

She slid down the wall, a hook in her hand slowing her descent. She didn’t say another word until she had reached the bottom and went to stand in front of the small group of strangers.

“Show me this child,” she said.

Something about her told Iselda that she wasn’t one to take cheap swipes at someone that wouldn’t defend herself, so she stepped to the side. The matriarch kneeled in front of the mixed child, studying her face for something.

She suddenly pulled Faïda in a hung. Iselda thought she saw a tremor in her shoulders, as if she was about to cry, but she blinked and it was gone. It must have been a trick of the light.

The matriarch pulled away from the child, to look at her face one more time.

“What is your name, girl?” the mantis asked.

“Faïda.”

“Faïda, did you know your father?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Never. He was dead when I was still in the egg – but mom said that he died as he wanted to, while fighting.” Beat. “Are you my grandmama?”

The mantis’ lips thinned and she nodded wordlessly, before rising to face the Lords. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

“My Lords, Mistress of the Strike, I have a request.”

“Speak,” the three sisters said in unison.

“The world has taken my child, and the world is now returning a grandchild to me. _I_ will take her in and teach her the Way of the Strike.”

“What about her claws?” one sister asked.

“She has a blade,” Iselda suddenly spoke up. She reached to her back and unloaded the short nail she carried. “She knows how to use it, I have been her teacher up to now. If another shape is needed, I shall contact a blacksmith.”

“Without claws, you might as well keep teaching her, warrior of the surface,” another sister said.

“I will teach her,” Faïda’s grandmother said. “With or without claws, she will know the Way of the Strike.” She laughed. “Is it not in our nature to enjoy a challenge?”

Whispers fell on to them from their gathered public above them, each mantis of the village wanting to tell their opinion on the matter to their neighbour. The sisters shared a glance before the middle one rose again.

“Very well, Telbira. You will be the caretaker of this child for as long as the child needs, and you’ll see to her education for everything concerning our ways.”

Telbira, the matriarch, bowed respectfully, accepting her Lords’ judgement.

“As for you, Faïda, lost child of the mantis tribe,” the Lord continued. “Understand that we will spare you no trial, nothing that we do not spare to our own children despite your differences. Is that clear?”

Faïda glanced at her grandmother, that was still leaning down, and bowed as she did.

Again and again, she drowned the Knight in her light. 

Again and again, they came back to challenge her.

They were an abomination. A force of nature opposed to nature itself, to _her_ , that was Nature Incarnated! They should not exist. They could not exist! She was fighting them, yet they never faltered, and now they were losing their shape to absorb her light better—

She screamed in terror as they held on to her with their tendrils, the sound so piercing it seemed to shatter the Realm of Dream itself. Panicked, she made a mistake, using more light than she should have to finish them off.

Not that it mattered to them, for they reappeared below her and started their ascension towards her.

There was nowhere to run.

There was something that Faïda needed to know. Her grandmama told it with her eyes sometimes, yet she had never worded it, but the matriarch was too honour bound to lie when asked directly. Faïda knew that well, having lived with her as she grew from childhood into her teens in her home. 

Yet Faïda couldn’t bring herself to ask, and just stared at Telbira. She was resting in front of the fire after a long training session, filing her claws so that they would remain sharp for the next day. The glow of the fire painted her ageing features in a softer light than what they were in the glow of bioluminescent mushrooms.

“Is there something you want to say, Faïda?” Telbira asked.

“Oh, nothing— I mean, yes, there is something I want to ask you. About... about my training.”

Telbira stopped the slow strokes of her whetstone and looked up at her. But she didn’t press the question.

“I have to know,” Faïda said. “Am I weak?”

Telbira placed her tools down.

“To any other bug than mantis, you wouldn’t be,” she said.

The words sank into Faïda’s heart like a knife, yet her grandmama continued.

“You have advantages, my dear, don’t think that you don’t. I don’t know what race of butterflies from which your mother comes from, but I have heard that your cousins the grubs are strong workers of the earth and master diggers. This strength can certainly be felt in your blows, it comes from your chest, it is what powers you. But you are slow. Slow, and heavy, and we mantis rely on speed and light tricks. You are only half warrior.”

Faïda nodded and hung her head low. She expected no consolations from Telbira, knowing that she had said the truth and nothing but the truth. But it still stung.

“Is there any more questions you had, my dear?” Telbira asked in a soft voice.

“No. I think that I will go to bed now, I finished sharpening my nail.”

Telbira nodded. “Good night.”

Faïda was already climbing the wall to the next flood of their home when Telbira called to her.

“Faïda!”

The teen turned around.

“Do not let that drag your spirit down,” Telbira said. “There are plenty of other places in the world where the Way of the Blade isn’t the way the people think.” Beat. “That’s why your father left in the first place, I believe. He thought it was better elsewhere. Maybe that it what you must do as well.”

Faïda smiled, lips tight. This wasn’t the reason why she felt so sad, but she appreciated the effort anyway.

Once in her bed, she allowed her thoughts to explore her problem. She wasn’t as good as a mantis when it came to combat. And dreamwalking... Her mother crossed through the dreamworld every night to visit her and teach her from afar, just like every butterfly educated their children to do. But Faïda knew that she was behind compared to the grubs her age. He mother Bellrina would never admit it, but her eyes when Faïda failed the simplest of exercises said it all.

She held back her tears, not wanting her mother so see her like that, and slipped into the Dream Realm.

Light, light all around her, and the immense sense of peace that came from it. A path appeared in front of her and she took it, knowing that it would lead to their meeting point. She had no wings, there was her first disadvantage when it came to moving in the Dream Realm: butterflies could travel from place to place with ease by flying.

Her mother wasn’t the one waiting for her.

“Ah, Faïda,” Aëgis said. “Come, come closer. I’ll be replacing your mother today.”

Faïda paused. Her aunt, she knew, was a very important person, a Dreamwalker with powers that rivalled by far the ones of her own mother, but also a very busy person. Seeing her here meant that the occasion was a serious one.

“Why the face, child?” Aëgis said. “I promise that I won’t bite you. Come, let us sit here.”

A bench appeared, summoned by the Dreamwalker, and she sat down. Then she looked at Faïda, that had yet to move, and patted the spot next to her. She spoke again once they were both seated.

“Now, you are probably wondering why I am here at all, so I will be blunt with you: your mother is worried about your progress and wants me to see if there is anything that I can.”

Faïda considered herself a strong bug but she had only escaped childhood. Two blunt truth, spelt out so close to one another, hurt, and she felt tears well up in her eyes.

“Child! Oh, no, no, crying won’t do,” Aëgis said as she gathered a corner of her cloak to wipe the tears away. “Hush. It’s all right. No one is mad at you.”

“Oh— Aunt’ëgis, I’m sorry— I swear I’ll get good enough, I promise I’ll do my best from now on.”

“But you _are_ doing your best, the best you can! I heard your mother talk about you. She’s very proud.”

“But I’m not... I’m not a good Dreamwalker, and I’m not a good warrior, and I don’t sing quite right— I’m good at _nothing_. Grandmama, and my mom, and you, you all do your best to help me but I’m just not _good_ enough. I’m not a mantis, and I’m not a butterfly, I’m _nothing_.”

She couldn’t hold her tears much longer. They poured down her face in rivers, wetting her cheeks. Aëgis, seeing this, pulled her in her arms very softly, making her niece rest her head on the fluff of her chest, and stroked her cheek. She kept purring softly, as a mother would to her child. Nestled between the folds of her cloak, Faïda felt protected and loved, unjudged yet free to cry it all out. And she did.

When Aëgis was sure that the sobs that racked the body of her niece were dying out, she spoke again.

“You are Faïda,” she said. “And Faïda is both butterfly and mantis. You don’t see many of your friends in the mantis village walk the Dream Realm as you do now, do you?”

“No, but—“

“And I tell you, there is no butterfly or grub in Grubnest that can rival you when you have a nail in your hand.”

“Maybe. But what’s the point of it if I am never going to be the best? I’m just... average in everything. I’m good at nothing. Not like you, or grandmama. She was one of the best warriors of her tribe when she was young, and now she’s stuck with _me_.”

“Ah. I see where you’ve gotten lost.” Aëgis pressed a finger to the tip of her nose, gently. “You think someone is only as valuable as their skills. That’s something mantis tend to think, although it is not the only way. Do you know how butterflies think?”

Faïda sniffled. “How do they think?”

“They think that everyone should be part of a whole, and that every little bit helps, so the more you do the more you are valued.”

Faïda perked up. Compared to the first option, this looked a lot better, and she was even starting to wonder if she could take it as her own.

“This was of thinking would make you just as miserable,” Aëgis said.

Faïda opened her mouth to protest, in vain, against having this exit to her sorrow ripped out of her hands as she had just started to familiarise herself with the idea. This angered her, and some of it leaked in her tone despite her best efforts.

“So you’re saying I’m always going to be sad, then, because I’m neither butterfly or mantis. We’re getting nowhere.”

“Mantis and butterflies are not the only thing existing in this world.” Aëgis seemed amused by her niece and was using that tone she had yet another trick up her sleeve. “You want to know how _I_ like to think of it?”

Faïda nodded.

“I think that you are something different, something new. You are not a mantis _and_ a butterfly, you are... well, let us call it a Faïda, because it was never seen before you. And we are all there, sitting around you, trying to teach you un-Faïda things, and then we wonder why you are not good at them. Isn’t that strange?”

“But if I’m not supposed to be good at fighting, and I’m not supposed to be good at dreamwalking, what am I good at? It’s not like I was going to be any better at weaving, or collecting honey, or growing plants.”

“Ah. That, aunt Aëgis cannot teach you. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”

Faïda looked down, deceived. She would have wanted an answer that eased the pain of her heart once and for all, one that would stop her worries.

“Hush now, child.” Aëgis lifted her chin so she would look back up. “What is the matter now?”

“What if I never find out what I’m good at?”

She laughed. “Child! You’ll have your life for that. Oh, I know that you feel like you’ve lived through so much, and that you need to be ready to become an adult soon, but trust me, it’s not a race. Even if you find out at the dusk of your life, it will be worth it.”

“But even then— Well, I’ll never find people like me.”

Aëgis paused, opened her mouth, but it was clear that she had no answer to _that_. This was Faïda was most afraid of, and it was all she wanted at the end of the day: a place where she belonged.

“Well, I suppose that this is the burden you must carry,” her aunt eventually answered. “It’s not an easy one. But you can grow into it. I know you will.”

“How can you know?”

“Because I believe in you. And I love you. And your mother loves you, and so does Telbira, all in their own ways. And, at the end, that’s all you really need: love where your heart can make itself at home.”

I see it now.

All the steps I took along the way, all the decisions I made, leading to this moment!

The end. And I thought I would be eternal! It is laughable.

The world will forever remain without _my_ light. Will it miss me?

No. Of course it won’t. It has already forgotten me. It is so much wider than I. Why couldn’t I see this earlier?

They stand above me. Their nail is ready to—

Aëgis rose with a start. She sat up and looked around, finding that she had fallen asleep on the steps of the Temple again. The Black Egg loomed over her, full of existence, expanding until it filled the air, until it filled all of Hallownest, ready to burst.

She stood up and backed away, her eyes wide with shock. The Egg shone! It shone in the Dream Realm, like a beckon. She fell on her knees as such a sight, struck with wonder at such grace. She almost couldn’t bear looking at it, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

And then, in front of her very eyes, the light faltered, flickered, and Aëgis understood that it was dying. It was the last effort of a desperate fight, the last brilliant flame of a radiance.

“No!”

She rose her hands to the Egg, in vain. It couldn’t be. So much light, vanishing from this miserable world! The Gods were abandoning them when she finally realized that they had been there the whole time. This couldn’t happen!

Finally, the light faded, leaving a scorched mark in her eyes. She threw herself forward, on the ground, crying in despair. All this time, and she had not known. All this waiting, all this destiny, and she had been unable to do anything but stand on the side when it happened!

A light shone down on her, almost gently, prompting her to lift her head once more to look.

It shone again, but this time it was different – very different. She could bear looking at it, so high above her where she couldn’t reach it. The light shone as it did before, even it was weaker— No. The reason she could bear looking at it now was because it was shielded by something, contained by a counterpart she couldn’t distinguish from such a distance. But she felt eyes on her, that watched her intensely.

Suddenly, she understood. Losing no time, she got to her feet and dusted herself off, before spinning around. She flew out of the Temple.

The time had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entirety of Radiance’s monologues could have been written in all caps to convey her tone better, but it would have looked terrible on the page. 
> 
> But that’s the energy I imagine her thoughts have. 
> 
> Just. 
> 
> All caps.


	5. The Emergence

Faïda kept her blood-soaked nail at the ready as she waited for the corpse in front of her to move. Too many times had she turned her back to one, only to have it chase her down the hallways, the tiny taps of its long feet the most chilling sound of this place. In particular, her eyes were fixated on the wide gash her blade had made by piercing though its side. She wasn’t the most agile or the fastest but, luckily for her, wild beasts like those didn’t need to be dealt with finesse; bashing their face in with a single blow was fine. Even if Deepnest seriously wore down her nerves sometimes.

When she was sure that it wouldn’t jump on her when she least expected it, she pulled out a map, a quill and pen, and settled it all on the floor next to her lamp. It had taken her _weeks_ to find the place she was looking for in the Dream Realm alone, and she also struggled wrapping her head around the twisted galleries full of sound and darkness. But she had to find the place.

Luckily, she was closer than she thought. A few more turns, a few more enemies, and suddenly she stumbled upon the egg-like structure she had seen in her dreams. She could have paused to admire it, to savour the completion of a long, dangerous journey, but instead she hurried inside impatiently. The entrance was small, and it became even smaller as she advanced; she finished it on her hands and knees until she emerged in a wider room, that allowed to stand.

“She comes seeking, yet she already has a face,” the Mask Maker muttered, hunched over his work table. “A mask! A face! Does she need another?”

“Hello,” Faïda said. “I hope that I am not bothering you.”

“She wonders if she bothers... Never could she bother.” The creature (a spider?) shook his head yet never ceased to work. “She could look upon the shelves, see if this is what she truly wants for herself.”

Faïda took this as an invitation to browse. There were many masks in the room, all of which were waiting for a wearer. She looked through them, expecting one in particular to jump out to her. None did. So, she looked for something she could recognize among them and found one that reminded her of a mantis. If she squinted, she could almost see a resemblance to Telbira in it.

She turned around to ask, but paused before she could formulate a question. Had he changed his mask? She wasn’t quite sure, yet she didn’t recall that shape on him when she entered his home.

“She may touch, if she likes, she might even carry them. Each have their own spot and I remember.” the Mask Maker said.

Shrugging it off, she picked it up. Right as she was going to go back to the table, she spotted a second one that couldn’t be anything else than a butterfly’s face, so she took it as well. She approached with the two masks and stopped in front of the Mask Maker.

Oh yeah, he had most certainly changed face again. She was sure of it now.

“May I take one of these?” she asked.

He slapped them out of her hands, making them call on his table with a clang. She jumped, startled, and took a step back, but before she knew it he was shoving the one he had just finished in her hands.

“If she must do it, then let her have something more suited to her role. Foolish bug, a mask is not what she needs. Others have yet to make their way to this place, yet if she asks, I will provide.”

She stared down at the one he had made for her. Four eyes, white, horned. She would have never picked such a shape for herself. Where was she in it? She looked at it closely and recognized nothing she knew.

Yet she didn’t want any other than this one.

She put it on and it fitted her perfectly. Even her antennas fitter through small holes on the top, and the weight of the horns felt reassuring. Horns! What a strange thing to have for a bug.

“Now she must go,” the Mask Maker said. “She is needed elsewhere.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t answer. He was already absorbed in the sculpting of his new work, as if she wasn’t there at all. She crawled out and stood to her full height outside the egg. Now she had to make her way back to the mantis village – would she still be welcomed there?

“ _Faïda_.”

“Aunt’ëgis?” she called, startled.

“ _Faïda, you must come to the Temple. You are needed here_.”

Faïda understood that she was being talked to through the Dream Realm and it awed her. Her aunt truly must be powerful to pull out such a feat from all across Hallownest while she was awake.

She waited, but no other words made their way to her; she wouldn’t know anything more. Sighing, she started to make her way to the surface as quickly as she could.

Faïda pushed the door to the Temple and stepped inside to look around. She had to say, the place had changed over the years.

It was no longer dark and empty, but bright, filled with candles and incense to make the place more welcoming. There were vases with offerings, some flowers but mostly shells, and among them the spiral-likes ones seemed to be the most popular. There were even benches with people sitting on them to listen to the sermon of her aunt.

Aëgis herself had not changed much since they had last seen each other, even if in that time Faïda had reached adulthood. She still wore those vast white robes, and now she had a ceremonial headdress because she was presiding over a sermon of some sort. This intrigued Faïda. She had her aunt being referred to as priestess. It was time to see why this title was given to her.

“Gather round again, my children,” Aëgis said. “I have seen the light. There is a new guide among us! The light is about to shine on our darkness and show us the way.”

Faïda paused when she heard that, and looked around. The people gathered in the temple seemed just as confused as she, confirming that this wasn’t a usual occurrence. Had Aëgis gone mad? She might be called priestess, but that was because she was living in the Temple. People thought that she honoured the Black Egg, that she had some sort of secret that she kept, giving her an aura of mysticism. But she didn’t believe in a God, butterflies followed no God but their own song. So what was that about now?

“I see that you do not believe me, my children,” Aëgis continued. “But I have gathered you around me today to show you that we must no longer live this alone! Hallownest is on the verge of a radiating rebirth. Watch, and see for yourself! A new God will rise in front of your very eyes!”

At that moment, Aëgis looked straight at Faïda. Was this her part? The mixed child stood up, uncertain, and walked up the alley of bugs in the temple.

What did all those bugs see when they looked at her? Probably an oddity, a creature they couldn’t define. Massive, taller than the species of her parents themselves, her colours were dull yet her nail huge, a nail fit for a giant like her that she carried across her back. And the mask. Most of the bugs gathered here she had not seen before, they were travellers that had found in Dirtmouth a convenient haven when faced with the harshness of the world. They didn’t know of masks. Were not used to it. Yet, hidden behind one, she felt safer than she would have, because it was on her face that people understood the mix, how she was two halves that did not make a whole. Bugs, when they saw her features, started to assume things about her, things that were either not true or too painfully close to the truth; this was what she protected herself from.

She stood in front of Aëgis, waiting for the rest. She didn’t like this situation; she was only too aware of the theatrics that her aunt was setting up. Why couldn’t Aëgis have chosen a time where the temple was empty? Instead, she wanted many eyes to bear witness.

“I’ve been watching your journey to the surface, child,” she said to Faïda. She didn’t comment on the mask, but her stare lingered a fraction of a second too long. “Well now. It is time to fulfill your destiny. Break the Egg open with that nail of your.”

There was a gasp from the audience, then the stirring of an uproar. Break the Egg?

“She’s gone mad!” cried someone.

“She’s infected! The Infection!”

Some of the public stood up, their nails bare. One in particular was at the front line: a bug her age – maybe a little younger, at best – a slim lad that moved in quick bursts. His weapon was as long as it was thin, seemingly forged from the same ore as he. He stood proudly in front of her when she stepped between her aunt and he.

“Move aside, stranger,” he said. “This is something that does not concern you. I’ve been sitting here since she started speaking and she’s properly mad, I think, so it would be best if you let us take her away.”

Faïda drew her weapon.

“Suit yourself,” he said.

He took on a pose she recognized. In fact, now that he had struck it, she recognized his parents in him. Was that... one of Iselda and Conifer’s children? No wonder everyone had fallen back to let him do. His mother had probably taught her all she knew, making him an opponent to be feared. She was better off when staying on her guards.

“Child,” Aëgis said, resting her hand on her shoulder. “There are other matters at hand.”

Faïda grunted. “Step back.”

She felt her aunt obey, removing herself out of the way of the brewing fight.

To his credit, Iselda’s child didn’t warn before striking. Had Faïda not grown in a village where speed was everything, she would have never been able to parry, let alone swing her weapon back at him. He was wise not to try and stop it, of course. Instead, he jumped back, and jumped again even further when her blade came back for a second time.

Under her mask, she smiled. Using the momentum of her weapon, she turned around and smashed it into the Egg. She heard a cry from the crowd, but did she care? A second strike, and the Egg’s surface flew in pieces, revealing a gaping black maw.

“What have you done?” he cried.

She turned to face him once more but before she could, a powerful gush of wind blew out of the Egg, sending him stumbling back. She was surprised too, but kept her ground.

Aëgis stepped forward, resting a hand on the should of her niece. She didn’t have to be told to understand. It was... as if she had been meant to do that her entire life.

She stepped into the darkness, a firm hand on her nail. Her heart was beating like wild – she only realized that anything could be waiting for her down there when it was already too late to refuse. So she pushed on.

“Hey!”

She turned around to see that she was being joined by the lad from before. She couldn’t imagine Aëgis having allowed that. He had surely forced the passage. She frowned at him but, of course, he didn’t see that, since she had a mask.

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

She sighed.

“Just you try and stop me,” he replied, a hand on his nail.

“I’m not going to.”

As long as he didn’t get in the way, she didn’t mind him. Maybe... maybe she ever was a little glad, but admitting that would have been admitting that she was scared. So, she turned around and kept walking straight forward, in the dark.

Only it wasn’t dark for long. Strange motives, like strings of light, lit the dark. She heard the steps of her companion stop, for a moment, as he observed one closely, then he trotted up to her again, not wanting to be lost.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. Didn’t he feel the pressure in the air? The tension? There was something up ahead, that much she was sure, even if she was unable to know more because she kept getting distracted by his fretting. Maybe he didn’t feel it? This was a possibility. After all, she didn’t recall Confier of Iselda ever mentioning any butterfly ancestry.

She stopped to face him. Ignoring his question would be rude, and she wasn’t about to jump head first in the unknown while talking.

“Faïda.”

“Oh. All right. My name is Tystan.”

She nodded, then went back to walking. She really didn’t want to come across as a brute that barely cared for politeness, but she really had her mind on other things at the moment.

Ahead, there was an archway leading to a seemingly empty room. It was dimly lit, although that begged the question as to what lit it. But it wasn’t so much about what she could see, it was about what she could feel. It was as if all her senses burned for no reason, her touch, her sight, her hearing, there was something about the air that rubbed against all of her. She didn’t understand what it might be. She only knew that it was something ancient, older than the Egg itself, perhaps.

Had the Egg been used as a prison for something?

Was she really doing the right thing?

“Stand back,” said Tystan, stepping in front of her as they neared the door. “I’ll go ahead and ward off any danger there might be.”

She grabbed him by the collar before the idiot had the time to execute his brilliantly stupid plan.

“Hey! Let me go!”

“At least let the one that can actually take a hit go in front,” she explained.

“I don’t need any protection!”

“I don’t doubt that, I’m just doubting your ability to block.” She gave his twig-shaped frame a once-over. “And if you dodge, I’ll be the one standing behind you.”

“Hmpf. Fine, then. But I’ll be right behind you.”

She rolled her eyes. This man was way to eager to go and impale himself on a blade. Did he think this was some sort of field day for heroes? That probably was why he had followed her in the first place.

But, with that out of the way, they were finally able to reach the room at the end of the darkness. And what she saw there only thickened the mystery, at least in her eyes. She had no idea what her companion though of what he saw.

The reason why she had thought that the room was empty was because the cocoon was suspended in the air. It was large, larger than her even, and the pale silk thread from which it was made clung to chains that held it up, to the ceiling. And, most importantly, the room was cast in a pale light because it was _glowing¸_ covered in those thin while lines they had seen in the dark corridor. The scene was surreal.

“I don’t like this,” Tystan said. “Let’s head back.”

She ignored him as she examined the chains a little closer. Between that sight and Aëgis’ rambling about a new God, the connection was easy to make. She already knew what was expected of her. When she noticed that the cocoon was held up by four chains planted in the ground, she knew how she was going do it.

She unsheathed her nail and swung it, expecting the chain to come clean off. Instead, her blade met a sudden seal of pale threads, that glowed fiercely as they stopped her blow.

“What are you doing?” Tystan asked, panicked. “I said, let’s go back!”

Planting her sword in the ground to lean down, she took a closer look at what she had just hit. There was a very clear bent in the threads of light now, she noticed before they disappeared. Even if they were... whatever they appeared to be, they could be broken by physical strength. So she steadied her nail and gave it another hit, then another.

“Stop!” he cried.

The seal broke and vaporized in a gush of sparks. She turned to the next, but she found Tystan standing in the way.

“Stop!” he repeated. “Let’s not act rashly. We got to think this through!”

“You’re standing in my way,” she replied.

“I can’t let you act so rashly. This could end up very poorly. This thing has obviously been sealed away for a reason! You just broke some... magic binding of some sort. Do you know what sort of effort it takes to make magical bindings?”

He actually made sense. She lowered her nail and rested on it. “Hmm. Go on, then.”

“Well... we could start thinking, hmm, how did such a thing end up here in the first place? It’s all locked up, and so we can assume that someone locked it up for a reason, and so that reason could be that they are dangerous, don’t you think?”

“So, what do you say that we do?”

“Go out, and tell the others what we say, and close the Egg again. And never, ever try to open it again.”

She considered it.

“No.” She pushed him to the side. “Aëgis would have told me otherwise.”

“Aëgis can’t know everything!”

“No.” Faïda slammed her nail down. Somehow, she struck the right angle to break it in one swing, so she made notes of that for the next one. “She lived in the Temple since before I was born. I’ll trust her judgement.”

“You really believe that there is a God here? Have you even thought of the consequences of _that?_ ”

“You’re starting to bore me.”

Another one down. Now there was just one chain left, and Tystan was firmly camped in front of it, his nail drawn.

“You’re not serious,” Faïda said.

“I absolutely am. I don’t like the look of this. I’ll fight you if I have to!”

“ _Fine_. Since you want to duel so much.” She readied herself.

“Don’t underestimate me. I’ve been trained by the finest sword wielder of Dirtmouth all my life.”

And it showed. He didn’t have the grace of the mantis, but that was replaced by efficiency and precision, a deadly combo. She quickly went over what she remembered from Iselda’s style in her head, knowledge she had gathered when she was still training under her. This was going to be a tough fight if he was anywhere near the level she had, indeed.

He struck first, and she parried. Seeing that he was very fast, and most certainly quick to seize an opportunity, she kept herself on the defensive, looking for an opportunity. He was quite literally dancing circles around her.

“Not bad, for a brute,” he taunted. “I thought this fight would be over already.

She grunted as a reply as she stopped one of his blows. For such a puny thing, she wondered where he hid the muscles to deliver hits like he did. And she didn’t want to count on tiring him out, because there was a good chance that she would be the one that kneeled over first. At least he didn’t have that ungodly reach mantis had, but that only meant that he alternated being right in her face and standing two time times the length of her nail away at a dizzying speed.

This was going to be a hard fight.

Which was why she chose to skip it. Suddenly, she jumped back at a speed and distance that surprised him and struck the last binding, breaking clean through the magic. He cried out in shock a moment after, but it was already too late.

The cocoon dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

“You cheater!” Tystan was very red in the face. “You— You did—“

“Quiet,” she said. Her eyes were on the cocoon.

Before Tystan could say something else, it moved weakly. Something pushed against it, something long: a nail, it was revealed when it cut through the thread.

Tystan cried and jumped back, startled. Even she gripped her nail more firmly. Whatever happened next, she was ready for it, like during a hunt with the mantis.

Or rather she thought she was ready, because she certainly didn’t expect _light_ to spill out of the cocoon, rays of it, or how the air suddenly felt... vibrant. In fact, the energy that suddenly filled the room was overpowering. Overwhelmed, her nail escaped her hands and she dropped to her knees.

When the God rose out of their slumber, she couldn’t even keep her eyes on their face. But she recognized the four eyes and the horns, the design the Mask Maker had shoved in her hands, and understood.

Aëgis _felt_ the birth of her God. She felt it in her very bones, down in her soul, and knew that this was what she had been waiting for her entire life.

“Stand back!” she cried. “They are coming!”

It wasn’t necessary for her to say it: right at this moment, light emerged from the Egg and the crowd scurried; some of them even screamed in fear. None of them had ever seen anything like this light before. Even Aëgis felt apprehensive, and she saw Them. Never had she encountered such a creature: they were present in both Hallownest and the Dream Realm and transcended both.

When They emerged from the darkness, she fell to her knees, her face raised to Them

Their face was a white mask, a mask with four eyes... not painted, but holes containing nothing but pitch blackness. Horns stood on Their head, high and proud, and among them was a Light that lit up the way for their feet to walk on. But if one stood near Then, they were in the shadow; when one kneeled in front of them, they could look up at their face. Their cape floated behind them. Wings? For a second, Aëgis thought that they were wings, but the illusion was quickly dissipated.

They paused on the threshold, looking at everyone that was gathered for them. Were They surprised? Intrigued? No emotion transpired on Their face.

Aëgis was about to say something when They started walking again. She noticed Their feet, how They finished in thin, almost needle-like points, yet They seemed to float over the ground itself with ease. This was the grace of a God, she thought. This truly was what a Higher Being looked like!

She was so enraptured that she didn’t realise that They were leaving until they passed the door of the Temple. She got to her feet with a start and ran, but it was already too late; when she emerged after Them, They were already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Building Notes**
> 
> Faïda is so big compared to other bugs for the same reason ligers are bigger than their lion and tiger parent (you can look them up if you don’t know about them, they are pretty cool). She also is supposed to be part of a grub generation in the butterfly species, which partly explains her size. I imagine her to be a bit on the heavier size to, once again due to her grub inheritance. I have a drawing of her in the works, maybe I’ll include that in the next chapter.


	6. The Dark Phoenix

The death of a God isn’t something to be taken lightly.

Even when Gods take things that were not meant to belong to them, their disappearance will leave a mark on them, a trace, that other Higher Beings may read and understand, given that they knew where to look. The Radiance, that had claimed so much for herself, was no exception. Her final flame was a beacon that rippled through the dream world, shaking it to the very core. So great were the tremors that they found their ways to old, hidden channels, tendrils that were more like scars than connections, or maybe like the lines that spies laid to listen in on unsuspecting victims.

Somewhere, under a red, beating glow, an eye opened, and a creature long-forgotten saw the signs for what they were.

Grimm wasn’t quite sure he got it right but, to his credit, he had only just woken up. So he took the time to stretch, then dropped from his perch on to the ground. He did so elegantly, despite the disadvantage of starting head down: after all, he had had an eternity to practice it.

Once he had straightened himself and his clothes, once he had dusted off his cape, once he deemed himself sufficiently awake, he listened to the universe once more, trying to see if it was true. Surely it couldn’t. But it was.

Sadistic joy filled him, making the fire in his chest burn brighter. The Light was dead! Sweet mercy, the feel of her heavy weight on the Dream Realm was gone, gone forever. He knew it to be true because she couldn’t really hide, even when she was hidden against her will.

After all, true anonymity demanded great sacrifices. He, of all people, knew that better than anyone.

The joy given to him by such news was so great that he had to feel it grow gradually, by stages, as he realized all the possibilities this unforeseen even opened for him. The first step to that was that he had _won_ , he had outlived her. She was the one that had cast him away, forcing him into a lifetime of suffering and hiding, but she was the one that died first. He might not have been the one responsible for her downfall but, in a way, existing when she wasn’t any more was a revenge he gladly savoured cold. Oh, how he yearned to know about her last moments. Had she suffered? Had she despaired? Had she begged? He hoped she had begged, because he had not; and thus, she would have fallen lower than him.

With her gone, there was no longer a direct threat to his existence. No more hiding, he suddenly realized. No more scurrying and looking over his shoulder. And the cycle of the Ritual? That could stop as well.

Well, it wasn’t as if all that work put into escaping her could be undone in the snap of a finger, but he was willing to work for it. To return to his former glory... no, better than that: to reign unchallenged on the united Realms between Soul and Body! What a dream that might be. And here was the vacant throne, just waiting for someone to seize it!

Well, granted that there wasn’t already someone sitting in it.

This would require a closer inspection of the situation, something that wasn’t possible in his chambers because he didn’t know what he would be looking for, exactly. So he walked through the galleries of his Realm – or, what was left or it – barely sparing a glance to the patchwork of cloths covering the walls and ceiling. Once upon a time, he had had no other choice but to go for the cheap and efficient way of patching his own world up as it was ransacked and crushed by the Radiance’s influence. Now that she was no more, he could probably start a redecorating project without fearing that an increase in activity might attract some unwanted attention.

Eventually, he came to one of his balconies. Down below, under the vast ceiling of the cave, were the tents where his last remaining followers lived, as well as his avatar. With a bit of focus, he could visualise the watered-down version of himself sleeping, upside down in his room. He was getting old, too old to seal the Nightmare Realm, and Grimm was getting worried about when the next Ritual would come along. He _had_ been keeping an eye on Hallownest as his next target but, for that, he would need to be called...

But that were matters he could think about later. Raising his head, he closed his eyes and focused on the world, trying to see if there were any more information that he could glean. Higher Beings learned how to use their powers instinctively, even if they sometimes had troubles expressing how they worked in the limited language of the mortals. If Grimm had to describe the process through which he scanned the spheres for something, his first impulse would be to call it listening, but that was because it was the strongest sense of his material body.

So he listened, then, his entire being turned towards something he was the only one he could see. Though the tendrils that connected him still to his old domain, he looked through the Dream Realm, searching the balance of its forces to see if there was anything that would betray something out of place.

And, wouldn’t you know it, there was something.

It was the strangest trace, or maybe he was just too used to the domineering presence of his sister in its place. He couldn’t quite determine what was about them that was off, maybe it was the fact that he felt a presence yet no mind, no emotion to go with it. But there was _something_ , like a well-enclosed cocoon.

It didn’t take him long t figure out what was wrong. Or rather, nothing was wrong, really, because this presence simply was a new God, still half dormant, unaware of their potential.

Oh, how marvellous.

Grimm was a smart one, this was what had gotten him so far in the first place. For all his power and his Higher-ness, no moves were taken without careful planning, especially since his resources became limited. So he pulled a chair from his balcony and sat down to do just that.

First things first, he needed to understand how the Radiance had died. Last he knew, the Pale King was the one dealing with her antics, yet if this was the Pale King he would have known – in fact, he would have even been aware of Grimm’s curious inspection and would have reacted to it with the equivalent of an annoyed shrug after being poked repeatedly. This was a relief. The Pale King was a tricky being to deal with, and one that wasn’t likely to share one iota of power without having it torn out of his hands by force.

So this was a candidate to godhood completely out of left field. Maybe a mortal bug that had gotten lucky? Most probably a being with some control over dreams, maybe even soul, like a shaman, a moth... or a butterfly, even if they voluntarily stayed away from the mending of the Gods (but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t seize an opportunity if they saw one.)

But that didn’t matter. What did matter was that they didn’t seem to have inherited the Radiance’s memories, at least upon first inspection. And if _that_ turned out to be true, then Grimm’s life would find itself to be infinitely easier. It would mean that all trace of his sister would be gone forever – save for his memory of her, sadly. He didn’t carry her in his heart.

Although sister might not be the exact term for them, it was the one that came the closest to whatever bond he and the Radiance had had – limitations of the language and all that jazz. It was correct, up to a certain point: they came from the same essence, as siblings came from the same blood, but that didn’t mean they were obligated to like each other, or see that the power and Realms they shared should be shared equally. Grimm had assumed the latter, once upon a time; it had been his downfall.

But look who was laughing now.

He’d love to take a moment to commemorate her death before thinking about the future, so he stood up from his seat and went back inside. Inside the main room of his home – a glorified rat hole in his opinion, but he did see himself as a rat sometimes – were a few cabinets. He opened one and pulled out a bottle. The strong odour of alcohol filled the air the moment he uncorked it. It was a cheap drink, practically moonshine, and Grimm was sure that it would taste absolutely disgusting should he try to drink it. He poured it in a tall crystal glass, sat himself down in a sumptuous seat, and lit his drink with a small flame.

“To you finally fucking off, dear sister;” he said to the empty room, lifting his glass high. “May you fuck off forever in a pit of oblivion, or something like that.”

He would have downed his glass, but instead just slurped most of the flame loudly and clicked his tongue. He coughed when his fleshy throat was seared. Nothing he wasn’t used to, just another pitfall of his condition. And then his troupe wondered what happened to his voice – they didn’t notice that the change always occurred right when he reached the age where he could drink alcohol. He didn’t tell them the obvious. He enjoyed being shrouded in mystery. It made him feel important, like a glimpse back in the times where he actually _was_ important.

He sighed, as always when his mind wandered towards the past.

He remembered it perfectly, having carefully preserved the memory during his banishment: he used to be one of the rulers of the Ether. The Radiance had been the other, once a friend, then an acquaintance too busy with her own troubles for some bounding time. He had his servants, mortals he had lured to his service with promises of power, success and revenge. She also had her followers, only she had made that race for her service and saw that they were born into her shine rather than drawn to it – although she had never turned her nose up when someone wished to dedicate themselves body and soul to her cause.

 _Literally_ body and soul, mind you. She wouldn’t tolerate anything else. He understood that: he had his own ways of binding his followers to his service.

He had assumed that, even as they grew more distant, she would never strike him. After all, they had existed like that since the beginning and he had been happy with how things were; why wouldn’t she agree? But he had failed to see how their ways of thinking were vastly different. He was where she ended, just like she was where he ended. They were a cycle. He didn’t anticipate her desire to be unending.

This was why, although they used to be of equal strength, she managed to cast him down from his throne. This was how she surprised him completely, stripped him of his domain, his power, and separated the two Realms. This was what gave her a victory so complete that he had been nothing but a creeping bug in the shadows ever since.

With what was left of him, he created the Nightmare Heart, the living centre that held all of his Realm together. And, when there was nothing left, he created the rest: a body, a miserable mortal body, a pale copy of his once glorious form, so that he may survive through the ages.

Seeing how he struggled, the Radiance mercifully forgot about him, becoming the unchallenged true ruler of the Dreams. All the rest, the Ritual, her ever-expanding queendom, his stasis, her rise and downfall, was history.

Looking in the future, he felt apprehension. Now that the intoxication of victory was wearing out, he was left with a burning crystal glass and uncertainty as he stared in the future. Just because she was removed didn’t mean he didn’t have any slope to climb, and the one from rat to God was a steep one. He hopes of ruling alone over the Nightmares and Dreams were already crushed in the egg, at least for now, as there was _someone else_ , someone of unknown intent.

But that didn’t mean that their thrones couldn’t be placed side by side.

Of course, if that new God had inherited everything the Radiance had, they had also inherited her domain. But perhaps they could be negotiated with. As a former bug, if one was to assume that they were indeed that, they might be susceptible to being intimidated by another God, or at the very least open to negotiation. And, if that failed, Grimm could always use a favourite way of his, the “irresistible way”.

In non-Grimm language, that meant seduction.

It was a tool he had wielded a thousand times, for a thousand Rituals. Bugs often needed a little help to see all the advantages of aiding a stranger. Sometimes, that reward might be the promise of said stranger allowing access to the body he was about to discard. Sometimes, it might be the illusion of a tragic love, doomed by fatality – some bugs actively looked for a love like this, whether or not they were aware of it. Sometimes, it was the idea of aiding someone as gracious or courteous as Grimm that seduced them. But regardless of the story that was eventually told to them, when Grimm seduced, he always lied.

After all, his own heart was busy keeping him and his servants alive. It had no time for foolish dalliances.

He finished his... drink, if one could call it that (for all the good it did him, it might as well have been a whole pack of cigarettes) and stood up from his chair. Time for a plan. A _grand_ plan, fit for the big coming-back of a star like him. He was sick of only performing his importance. This time, he was going stand fearlessly in front of his challenge.

Granted, of course, that he had previously taken all of the precautions in ensuring that he still had an escape should circumstances turn against him.

First things first, he went back to sleep.

He awoke as his avatar, in the tent far below his apartments, among his followers. Well, maybe not _directly_ among them, they had the courtesy of not invading his room while he slept – curtesy that might or might not have been taught to them by ear-piercing shrieks. But he just needed to pass the door to be among them.

“The master,” he heard someone gasp.

A few bowed; most were wiser to get out of his way as he hurried down the cloth halls of his domain. The tents he had set up here, in the Nightmare Realm, were much wider than the ones he took to the Physical Realm. He had a precise destination in mind.

He existed the main one, where they usually gave their shows when on tour (and that served a gathering hall when they were among themselves) and into another, smaller one.

“Ah... master Grimm,” said Melancholy. “I take that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.”

“Indeed. And I need you to look into the location of this new God for me.”

Melancholy nodded her head gravely. The moth clan only had one living representant, but those that served Grimm weren’t exactly alive. Melancholy, with her torn wings, her patchy fur, and her missing arm, had had all the reasons to give herself to Grimm in exchange for her revenge. Since then, she had served him well. Her nature as a moth had made her the perfect spy, one that could peer into all the Realms ruled by his sister without being suspicious.

Not that she was still around, but he happened to be seriously out of practice after having avoided it for so long. He would rather have a reliable report.

“Well, well, well...” She approached her crystal ball with her large, blind eyes. “Let us see, then.”

She remained quiet for a moment. Bored, Grimm looked around her tent, at the various trinkets she had collected. One of them a clock. When he was a child, and hence a bit more... impulsive, he loved following the slow swing of the shiny pendulum. The small bite marks in the wood near its base might or might not have been from one of his previous incarnations.

“They are in Hallownest.”

He turned around swiftly, his eyes wide. Hallownest? This wasn’t the Dream Realm.

“What are they doing over there?”

“This is where they have awoken.” Melancholy waved her old hand. “They are very weak... from what I can tell, they have torn out the remaining of the Radiance’s power while she was worn down herself, so now he has to recuperate.”

“They are in Hallownest...”

This was troublesome. Travelling to the Physical Realm in his condition was... complicated. He stepped to Melancholy’s table, leaning over the crystal ball. She moved to stop him when he grabbed it, but he ignored it. He knew that it was her most precious possession, but it wasn’t as if he would be careless enough to _break_ it. He was no child... at the moment.

He looked deep within, seeking a weak heart. Someone full of secret desires, that thought themselves under control; in other words, someone he might target when looking for a new servant.

His eyes found a hidden face. Someone that stood out despite the best of efforts, someone that longed for a home.

Perfect. He knew how to lure poor lost souls like this one.


	7. Darkness and Whispers

Faïda looked at the entrance of the room in the Black Egg, through which the Higher Being that had just awakened disappeared.

They had not even spared a glance to the ones that had broken them out, which was... awkward, to say the least. Their face had been unreadable (what expression could four empty eyes have?) but she would have described the way they walked as determined. Where were they going? To Aëgis? That would make sense. She was the Priestess, after all, the one with the most presence in the Dream Realm, and thus probably the most interesting in the eyes of a God.

Now, all that was left to do was take care of Tystan, that was laying paralysed with fear on the ground.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m— I’m fine. Just need a moment. For my legs to...”

He tried to get up but didn’t get very far before his limbs gave from under him. She jerked forward, catching him before he fell again; he clung to her arms desperately.

“Urg,” he said, frustrated. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I was so— I didn’t expect anything like that, it was like I was _crushed_. And that gaze? Did you feel it?”

“Feel what?” she asked.

“The... Their _gaze_! It was like... someone was holding me down, and crushing me. But... not my body.”

“Your mind.”

“Yes! Like they resented me.”

Seeing how he had fussed about freeing them, they probably _had_ resented him. It made sense that they would lash out... in some way. She didn’t comment, but she was secretly glad that it had not been worse. Tystan was annoying, perhaps, but he certainly wouldn’t have deserved that.

She helped him to his feet. He leaned most of his weight against her just so he could stand.

“It will be faster if I did this,” she said.

“Did what?”

She lifted him, his legs over one arm and his chest over the other. He gasped and held on her neck.

“I can walk fine if given a minute,” he said.

“I want to see what’s going to happen next.”

“You can leave me— No need to burden yourself.”

“You’re light as a feather.”

He huffed at this statement and she wondered if she had offended him in some way. Not that she cared about his wounded ego. She started walking back, out of the room and into the darkness. Really, what an odd place.

A trail of dust fell from the ceiling, followed by a rock that fell on top of her head. She didn’t even think about it: she started to run.

“What—“ Tystan cried, but he was interrupted by the sound of large pieces of the invisible, pitch-black ceiling falling.

She saw the entrance far off in front of her, a jagged circle of light. For a second, she hoped, and then it was snuffed like a candle when a piece of ceiling fell in front of it. Tystan screamed, yet she kept running straight forward in the pitch-black darkness. Was it dangerous? Yes. It what was even more dangerous to remain in one spot.

The deafening roar of the crumbling Egg suddenly became more muffled. Her heart jumped in her chest at the unexpected but she didn’t falter. She couldn’t.

Something heavy, cold and viscous hit her across the back. She tripped, almost fell, her breath cut short from the shock. This was what stopped her charge, but not her fight. She kneeled and curled over Tystan. At that moment, her mind was on which one of them had the best chance of survival – and that one was him if she sacrificed herself.

She didn’t expect the liquid feel or the cold against her shell, but she did have the reflex of breathing in sharply. A fraction of a second later, they were surrounded by a dark mass.

It was cold. So cold. And every single cell in Faïda’s body screamed from the contact, begging her to get away from it. She would have gotten up and run for her life if she could. Instead, she curled around Tystan more, focusing on his heat, and the feeling of his breathing heart—

Her head emerged as the mass drained away. She took a bit breath of air, then lifted Tystan up so he could as well. He was shaking, from cold or fear she didn’t know, and then she realized that she was shaking as well.

“Faïda!” Aëgis cried. Her wings flashed colour as she flew over them, not daring to touch the darkness – not that she saw it for herself, Faïda wanted to give it no other name because of how completely it absorbed all light. “Are you all right?”

Faïda got up, her legs threatening to give from under her at any moment but still holding Tystan. As far as she could tell, he was equally shocked, but all right. And so was she. They shared a wide-eyed stare, as if surprised to see each other.

He started to laugh, a breathy, uncontrollable laugh. And she, without knowing why, started to laugh as well. They were alive! She really thought that they were about to die in there.

“By the spheres,” Aëgis said as she landed next to them, “you two. I’m so glad to see you’re all right. Your mother would have _killed_ me, Faïda. And then your mother, Tystan, would have killed me again, just to make sure I was dead. Oh, just—“ She threw her arms up.

“I still don’t know what was that,” Faïda said.

Aëgis’ face suddenly hardened. “It was Void.”

“Void?”

This wasn’t one of the three that had said that, but one of the crowd that had come to the Temple, a bug that Faïda didn’t know. Everyone had stepped away so that they wouldn’t touch that... Void thing, and now they were approaching again, hesitantly, as if Faïsa and Tystan themselves were about to burst into some of it.

Aëgis, that had been reminded that she had an audience, puffed out her chest and stood a little higher. Just like that, she had become the priestess again, the title she claimed not wanting for herself but never refusing.

“I have never seen any myself, it is something that can only be found deep in the earth, where there is nothing but darkness. But I have heard of it and of its properties, and I can only assume that this what it was.”

“But why did the Egg turn into that?”

She didn’t answer right away. She looked around, at the Temple where she had spent most of her life, deeply in thoughts. Faïda used the small moment of emptiness to put Tystan down but he stayed next to her.

“Someone created it with Void,” Aëgis said. “Someone had been playing with it. I can’t imagine who would even attempt to do that. You must be insane to try. But that it what happened. This Egg didn’t form itself on its own, and the God we saw coming out of it might have even been placed there.”

“I knew it was made,” Tystan muttered.

“But that doesn’t answer any questions!” someone else said. “What’s going to happen now? Is that God dangerous? Are we safe?”

“You are perfectly safe,” Aëgis said. “There is no need to worry.”

“How do we know that?”

“Because I said so! This God is to be out new light. Our guide. Too long had we remained in the dark, can’t you see? Bugkind is losing the glory that was once Hollownest. But now—“ 

“What if we don’t want light?”

“Yeah, maybe we like it in the dark!”

The crowd was getting restless, and Faïda caught the brief, panicked glance Aëgis sent her way, so she decided to step in. Drawing out her nail, she slammed it down. Several bugs, that had come dangerously close, jumped back.

“Quiet,” she said, standing straight so she was even more imposing. “If you don’t wish to follow Aëgis, you may leave now. If you wish to cause trouble for her, it will be over my lying body.”

Some glanced to Tystan, as if expecting for him to step in, but he didn’t react, and so did everyone else.

“Everyone should go back home,” Aëgis said. “We’ve all been quite shaken by the recent events and we shouldn’t act too rashly now. Please, do not worry. I will take care of everything.”

Some grumbled, but there was a general movement towards the door. Seeing that the situation was entirely diffused, Faïda relaxed and sheathed her weapon.

“You too, child,” said Aëgis, laying a hand on her niece’s arm. “Especially you. I will have to meditate and try to find out what is the next step.”

“You can come to my place,” Tystan said. “It’s not far, just in Dirtmouth. Do you know where Dirtmouth is?”

“Yes, I do.” Now that he mentioned it, she did wish to see Iselda and Conifer again, it had been years since she had last talked to them – since she had moved to the Mantis Village. “I’ll gladly drop by for a visit.”

“Then that’s settled,” Aëgis said.

And then she did something completely unexpected: she drew Faïda in a tight hug. The warrior froze. Was she supposed to hug back? Was— Was that what you did when you were hugged?

“I got so scared you were going to die in there,” Aëgis said. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“I’m— I’m fine,” Faïda muttered. “Everything was fine.”

Aëgis let her go and held her at arms’ length. She stared into Faïda’s face with her lips drawn tightly, as if she was about to say something, before she let go and patted her on the shoulder instead. Faïda nodded, back in familiar territory. She knew she had just been in great danger right now, but her family really wasn’t into this whole... affection thing. On both sides.

“I’ll call for you if there is anything I need from you,” Aëgis said. “Please don’t scare any more people than you already have.”

“I haven’t scared anyone.”

Tystan cleared his throat.

“Well, not anyone that didn’t deserve it.”

Aëgis chuckled. “Rest well, child. And say hi to Conifer and Iselda for me.”

She followed Tystan outside. He had the courtesy to refrain from asking any questions until then. But his curiosity eventually got the best of him.

“So... how do you know Aëgis? You guys seem pretty close.” 

“I’m her niece.”

She had anticipated such a reaction, but she still tensed when he leaned forward to take a closer look at her face, then gave her a once-over. He didn’t know any better, but being reminded of how little she looked like a butterfly was still unpleasant.

“You look a bit less... squishier than a grub, if I can say so myself. Are you wearing armour?”

“No.”

“Oh, you’re like—“ He covered his mouth at the realization. “You’re a hybrid. Right?”

“Yes. I’ve got a mantis father. Before you ask about it.”

“Oh... Wow, that’s pretty cool. I would have never guessed. I heard they make great warriors because of how fast they are – and their reach! My mother said that if I ever venture in their territory the best weapon against them was a spear because of how far they can hit you from.”

“Your mother knows what she is talking about.”

“Oh, you’ve seen already fought some?”

She thought of her entire childhood and teenage years spent training against mantis from the Village. “One could say that.”

“That’s pretty cool. I’ve already travelled Hallownest some, but I never went as far as the Fungal Wastes. Staying near the surface it less dangerous.”

He climbed on the lift that lead to Dirtmouth, followed by Faïda and a few others that were going up, and pressed the button for it to move.

Faïda did not expect the sight of Dirthmouth when she reached the surface.

When she had left, the place had been going some changes to accommodate a growing number of inhabitants. Now, it was still nestled under a great mantle of darkness, but the many, many streets had their own lights, either the small white flutter of lumiflies or the pink crystals mined from the nearby peak. And in the ever-changing light were so many colours, vibrant, painted on the houses, hanging from the signs, peeping through the curtains of houses, and clinging to the shells of the bugs themselves. Faïda was made dizzy by so many things moving at the same time, not knowing what to do or where to look.

“This way,” Tystan said.

She focused on him, and him alone. She was grateful for his guidance in this chaos. She, that was used to the Dirtmouth of her memories, felt lost in the middle of this fluttering world. He, on the other hand, seemed unaffected.

Suddenly, she recognized a house she knew and felt a smile on her face. She remembered Iselda and Conifer’s place. There were the extra rooms that Conifer had built himself. There was the courtyard where Iselda used to give her lessons. This was a place from her childhood, one where she had had many happy memories.

Tystan ducked to pass the door, and so did she, almost getting on her knees so that her nail would pass as well.

“Ma, Pa, I’m home! I brought a visitor!”

The familiar smell of parchment and ink filled her nose and she looked around at the map shop. It looked better furnished since last time she had come, with a glass display for the pins and sumptuously illustrated maps of Hallownest on the walls. There were colours here as well, but they were better coordinated and actually pleasant to look at; Faïda suspected that Conifer had spent quite a bit of time making sure that his shop looked just right.

Thinking of which, here he was, emerging from behind a shelf. He took off his glasses and started to wipe the dust off them with an ink-stained rag he carried at his hip.

“Well hello son, welcome back. How was Aëgis?”

“It was a whole adventure. I’ll have to tell you all about it.”

That was the moment where Conifer put his glasses back on, and also the moment where he noticed that there was someone standing behind his son. He cranked his head back to look at her, seemingly unimpressed by her size, but she realized right away that he didn’t recognize her.

“I don’t believe I know your friend, don’t I?” the cartographer said.

“No, you don’t Pa,” Tystan said, patting his head. “I just met her. Her name is Faïda.”

“Oh, that’s—“ Conifer frowned. Grabbed his trunk in his hand to think. “That’s a pretty uncommon name, but does it happen to be a grub name?”

“That’s... correct,” Faïda answered.

“I knew a kid with that name. It means... precious, doesn’t it? No, don’t say. It means protected! I remember now.”

“You’d actually translate it to lucky,” Faïda said. “But yes, that’s what it means.”

“You’re called _lucky?_ ” Tystan said, astonished.

“Yes.”

Tystan was about to add something when his mother, Iselda, walked in.

“Oh, well, hello there,” she said. Beat. “Faïda?”

“Wait,” Conifer said. “ _Faïda_?”

“Hello, Iselda, Conifer.” Faïda was relieved that Iselda at least recognized her, or she wouldn’t have known how to break it to them.

“Wait, you _know_ her?” Tystan said.

“Of course I know her,” Iselda said. “I taught her when she was small.”

“She’s the daughter of Bellrina, son,” Conifer told Tystan. “You know Bellrina.”

“How you’ve _grown_ ,” Iselda cried. She grabbed Faïda by the shoulders to get a better look at her. “Why, you were such a skinny thing when you were small. Look at this nail! That’s the weapon you wield? It’s massive!”

“Oh, yeah.” Faïda went to unsheathe it.

“Not in my shop!” Conifer cried. With people like Iselda and Tystan in his home, he was probably very aware of what happened when someone took out a weapon out near his glass display.

“Sorry.”

“Let’s get in the kitchen. Do you want something to eat?”

“Sure.”

Now that Iselda was mentioning it, Faïda felt both starving and tired. She had come right out of Deepnest to the nearest station, which had not been a stroll in the park. She repressed a yawn as she sat down, before remembering that her face was hidden. She wondered if she should take it out. She was not exactly aware of proper mask manners, having not grown around people that wore any.

They walked into an adjacent room. This time, neither Tystan or Iselda needed to lean down to pass the door, but she had, and she heard the distinct “clunk” of her nail’s handle getting caught on the way. She stepped in a well-ordered room, with assortments of herbs hanging from the ceiling and a cute little window letting in some light from the street – not that it needed it, but Faïda had always liked looking out windows; it was such a typical surface dweller thing.

“We must still have some cookies from the last batch I made,” Conifer said from the shop.

“I’ll get them,” Tystan said as he pulled a box from a cupboard.

Faïda took off her nail strap, placed it against the wall near the other nails, and rolled her shoulders. Then she realized that, if she was going to eat anything, she was going to _have_ to take off her mask, and a wave of discomfort washed over her. She didn’t want to, but she also didn’t want to look like a complete fool while trying to fit cookies under it.

She took it off.

“Where, erm...” she said, holding it awkwardly in her hand. “Where can I put this down?”

Tystan turned around right then and stared at her with his mouth open and his eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe them. Iselda didn’t even bat an lash.

“Why don’t you lay it on the table?” she said. “It’s fine if you do, sweetie.”

“Thanks.”

Faïda sat down and pretended not to notice that Tystan was still staring, or even notice that she was extremely uncomfortable with it. She caught Iselda signalling him to quit it in her peripheral vision with sharp gestures, for which she was grateful.

“So, erm, you’re called lucky,” Tystan said as he sat down in front of her.

“I am... what about it?”

“I don’t know, I just think it’s, erm, cool. _My_ name doesn’t mean anything.”

“Take a cookie, sweetie, don’t be shy about it.”

Being called sweetie by a woman she could probably break in half on her knee struck Faïda as... unusual. It also felt weird. She had not been called that since she was a child – since she had last seen Iselda.

Faïda took a cookie from the box. It was small and smelled really nice, like lumaflower nectar. She held it in her hand, too nervous to actually eat.

“Did you travel a lot?” Tystan asked.

“A fair bit. In Hallownest at least.”

There was a short silence.

“You really don’t like talking a lot,” Tystan said.

“I’m sorry, I’m just...” Faïda rubbed her face. “I’m actually really tired right now. I’ve come straight from Deepnest when Aëgis asked me to come.”

“Walking all the way?” Iselda asked.

“No... No, I used the Stagways. But I walked through Deepnest first.”

“Oh dear, that’s still such a long trip. You must be _exhausted_. We’ve got an extra room, if you like, you can lay down there for a nap.”

“Yeah, especially after everything that happened at the Temple,” said Tystan.

“Something happened at the Temple?” Conifer asked through the open door, confirming that he could hear everything.

“You’ll tell us after, Tystan, all right?” Iselda said. “Let me get Faïda in bed first. Wyrm, you look so _pale_. You could be getting sick.”

“That’s from the mantis side,” Faïda said. “I promise. No need to worry.”

“ _Oh_ , so that’s what it is!” Tystan said.

Faïda caught the dark look his mother sent his way, and the way her son recoiled at it. Was that why he had been weird ever since she took off her mask?

There were good reasons she had chosen to cover her face, she bitterly told herself. People were not used to the looks of her mixed blood and this was where it was the most obvious.

“This way, sweetie,” said Iselda. “Don’t forget your mask – no, leave your nail here, it’s fine where it is.”

Faïda followed Iselda down a hallway and into a neat room. It was void of any personal affairs, meaning that it was a guest room, yet still held the same welcoming air as the rest of the house. And there was a window! Albeit Iselda quickly pulled the curtains in front of it so that the light from outside wouldn’t disturb her.

“There, rest as long as you like, sweetie.” Iselda patted the bed, as if checking if it was comfortable enough.

When Faïda sat on it, she found that it was marvellously comfortable; a dream after a harsh day of work come true. She placed her mask on the nightstand – she was pretty sure that one didn’t sleep with their mask on, at least, but she was glad to know it was nearby.

Especially after Tystan looked at her that way.

“Call if you need anything, and either Conifer or I will be right there.” Iselda stood at the door, ready to leave. “If you’re hungry, thirsty – anything. All right sweetie?”

“All right,” Faïda said. “Thank you so much. You’re just... You’re very kind.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all. You’ve had a long day. Now, enough talking and more resting. See you soon.”

“Thank you... see you soon.”

_Faïda_.

She turned around when she heard her name, but there was no one, no one but the wind. The wind, the endless wind that always blew on this place relentlessly. It was cold, and it was desolated; not a plant would grow here, not like in the safe depth of Hallownest. She held her arms and wondered why she had not brought a coat... the last thing she remembered was being in Iselda’s warm house.

That’s when she realized that this was a dream.

Right as she understood that, she felt this gaze on her, that was never there when she would turn around but that always burned. It made her feel small and yet intimidated that she had brought such attention to herself. She didn’t like the sensation it gave her. Dreams had always been pleasant to her – dreams always were. So why did she have trouble breathing?

 _Faïda_.

Again, a voice calling out to her. Or was it the wind? It was so low and raspy. It sounded like the elements themselves were talking to her.

She took a few steps to stare over a ledge and felt her heart leap in her chest when she saw how high she was. Down, far below, was a small, bright constellation; when she realized that it was Dirtmouth, realized how far below her it was, she quickly stepped away.

_Faïda..._

She wanted to wake up, but at the same time she knew something was wanted of her. She turned her back to the drop and ventured back into the hills, looking for the source of the voice.

There wasn’t anyone there, anyone save for some small wild bugs, tiny enough to survive in the harsh conditions, and the wind that kept howling against the sharp edges of the cliff. It was a desolate place.

Her eye caught sight of a light, the only light in the eternal dusk, but it was one she had never seen before. Red, an unnatural type of red, it filtered through the cracks in a wall. She grabbed her nail and gave it a wrack; the wall crumbled, revealing an opening into the earth as pitch black as the soul of evil. She hesitated.

 _Faïda_...

She ventured into it.

The gallery split in two then, one path staying on ground level and one nothing but a gaping hole in the ground; a hole with a red flickering light at the bottom. She jumped down.

Again, a cracked wall with a glow filtering through. Again, nothing but darkness when she broke it. This time, she didn’t hesitate, pushed by the cold winds at her back. Now she saw a flame in the back, a light that beckoned her. It didn’t even have to call her name anymore. She felt the ground shift under her feet, becoming steeper, until she was falling, falling down a hole, and at the bottom of it awaited the face of a corpse with dead, fiery eyes.


	8. The Secret of Howling Cliffs

She woke up in Iselda’s guest room, shivering and sweating at the same time. She slowly sat up and rubbed her face.

What had that been?

Nothing had really _happened_ , nothing that would justify such a reaction from her at least, but what she had felt in the dream had gone beyond that, and now her head felt clouded heavy. She felt as if she needed a breath of fresh air to clear it out.

It was when she noticed that her knees were weak when she tried to stand that she realized that her symptoms were similar to something she had seen before. Tystan, after the emergence of the Higher Being in the Black Egg, had been unable to stand. Was that how he had felt?

Had she just met the God in a dream?

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that this must be it. She had never felt such a thing before, and so the next logical step was to link it back to the fact that there was a brand-new God in Hallownest. This must be some sort of sign from them, right?

It had to be. There was only one God she knew of that would have any interest in her.

With this established as her final conclusion on the matter, she grabbed her mask to put it back on and got out of bed, wondering how much time she had slept. At least she felt refreshed, which was the only thing that should matter, but she was worried that she was overstaying her welcome.

There were things she needed to do.

Once in the hallway, she noticed that it smelled quite nice, like food, so she made her way to the kitchen and found Conifer there, with three of Tystan’s younger siblings that she didn’t know, seated at the table. The cartographer’s face lit up with a big, friendly smile when he saw her.

“Ah, Faïda, you’re awake,” he said. “Care for something to eat?”

“Erm...” She stared at the large bowl of mashed pollen and herbs in the middle of the table, then at the three small faces of Conifer’s children raised curious in her direction. She was tempted to sit down and eat, but she couldn’t get the memory of the red flames out of her mind. “I’d love to, but I must get going. There is something important that I must do.”

“At least let me prepare something to take with you,” Conifer insisted. “Have you eaten? No, of course you haven’t. I can’t even imagine what someone might eat in Deepnest – no, no, no need to be shy about it, just take some, that’s why I made extras.” He got up from the table and started to fill a lunchbox with enough food to feed two of her.

“Where are you going?” Tystan asked, poking his head in from the shop.

“To the Howling Cliffs.” She turned to Conifer. “Would you recommend a good place for me to buy a coat?”

“A coat?” Conifer stroked his trunk. “Well, of course, the Weaver Silkshop would have anything you need. It’s down the road.”

“I can show you to it, if you want,” Tystan said.

She thought of all the dizzying colours and the agitation of the streets and nodded. She was willing to put up with Tystan for the sake of having a guide – she needed one in Dirtmouth and she was a little embarrassed about that. Once she would be back in the wilderness, however, she would be back in her element.

“What are you going to do in the Howling Cliffs?” Tystan asked her.

“Important business.”

Tystan nodded with a sly smirk on his face. She thought nothing of it. In retrospective, she should have.

“Aha, miss, I humbly request that you direct your attention to _this_ piece of our collection. This has been dyed using mosscreep leaves, with a touch of crystal powder – it lost its signature glow in the process, but it gives fabric such a _ravishing_ shine, don’t you think? But my favourite things about this piece is the _pockets_. For all the beauty of it, it doesn’t lose its utilitarian value, and this one, in particular, has vast pockets, that I’m sure will fit all sort of _accessories_ —“

“I just want a coat,” Faïda said.

The vendor paused in the middle of his speech, mouth open.

“But that’s... that’s a coat,” he said.

She looked at the flimsy piece of cloth he dared presenting her. It was pretty, all right, and colourful, but that would get torn very quickly, she just knew it.

“I think that what she means is that she is looking for something a bit more, aah, _robust_ ,” Tystan said.

“Oh! But of course! Why didn’t you say so earlier! I have some lovely pieces to show – with some of the softest and warmest furs you have seen, of course, and quite sturdy – coats that will last you a lifetime!”

The seller disappeared in the back of the shop, leaving her alone with Tystan. She glanced at him, not really certain about why he was there, all dressed up in his own coat and with his nail. Sure, he had shown her the way, but now that she was at the shop, his part was done. Yet he was there, with her, helping her chose.

He looked back at her, noticing that she was staring, and she fixed her gaze on some point on the wall instead.

The shop clerk came back with a few coats or at least garments that she at least would call coats. She picked one that wasn’t too flashy, so that she may wear it without signifying to every single predator that she was coming. She wasn’t part of a poisonous species; she told the owner that when he called the one she had set her choice on a “bit drab”. This seemed to shut him up.

She left the shop after having taken the time to adjust her nail over her coat. And, wouldn’t you know, Tystan followed her then as well.

She stopped in the middle of the street and turned around to face him. “Your home is the other way.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you are not.”

“I absolutely am. Whatever you are going to do in Howling Cliffs, I bet it has something to do with that Higher Being business, and there is no reason for you to be the only one that’s in on the fun. Besides, if I say that I am going to Howling Cliffs, you can’t stop me. It’s a free bug world.”

She sighed. Loudly. She didn’t want to be auguring with him, and something told her that even if she got him to agree with her he would track her from far anyway.

“If you are going to come with me, you got to promise that you won’t get in the way this time.”

“I didn’t get in the way last time!”

She stared at him.

“I was only... trying to reason you,” he added. “Because freeing that cocoon really didn’t seem like a good idea. I still don’t think it was a good one, by the way. Everyone is worried that something bad is going to happen now.”

“Just promise.”

“Fine!” He threw his hands in the air. “I promise I won’t try to stop you.”

“Hold on to it.”

They continued on their way and this time Tystan was walking next to her. She was getting used to all the confusion of Dirthmouth, slowly but surely. Maybe one day she would grow to like the place.

“Why do you want to follow me this much?” she asked Tystan. “It could be dangerous.”

“Will it be dangerous?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I hope it will be. I need to hone my skill, you know, if I want to become a mercenary. I’m already older than my sister when she became one herself.”

“This isn’t an Initiation Hunt.” Faïda was baffled. With a mentality like that, this man was going to get himself killed.

“What’s an Initiation Hunt?”

“It’s a... a coming of age hunt. It’s a mantis tradition.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I like it. This could be some sort of Initiation Hunt for me. Yeah, that’s exactly what it will be.”

“No. If it’s dangerous, you stand behind me.”

“Aw, come on. I’m not made of wax, I need the experience—“

“What you don’t need is getting yourself killed.”

“I’m not going to _get myself killed_ , I _can_ tell when something is dangerous, not like a certain someone I could think of that literally cut down a cocoon without knowing what was inside—“

“Remember your promise.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“If I got to watch over you to make sure that you don’t get yourself killed, then you’ll be preventing me from doing what I have to do.”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll just— I’ll stand around looking pretty, I guess, and let _miss Faïda_ do all the work.”

“Good.”

She smirked as he muttered curses under his breath, in a tongue that was probably the one of Iselda and Conifer’s homeland. Sometimes he annoyed her, and sometimes she annoyed him. It was only fair. 

The first thing she noticed when they arrived at the edge of Dirtmouth was that a convenient bridge had been built, of wood, rope and some stone – not something meant to last a hundred years or to impress as the entrance to a glorious and prosperous kingdom, but a useful pathway nevertheless, a bridge that allowed bugs to come in and out of the town. They made their way to the top with no trouble.

“There’s a pathway to the Howling Cliffs from here,” Tystan said, his bad mood seemingly already forgotten. “A Nailmaster lived there, once, until he wasn’t recluse enough and moved out, but my mother and older sister used to visit him sometimes so that he could teach them things.”

“Oh. How about you?”

“Me? I was too young, they said, and then one day he was gone.” He then added, under his breath but loud enough for her to hear him complain: “I never get to do any cool fighting stuff.”

“There are other masters.”

“I wish I knew where they were. Then I could go and visit them.”

“My grandmama is a good teacher. I could introduce you to her.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s a quick fighter too. I think that you could learn a lot from her fighting style.”

“Wait. By grandmother, you are talking about your butterfly side or mantis side?”

“The mantis one. Why?”

“Wait, hold your stags right them.” He stopped in his tracks. “Did you _live_ with the mantis tribe?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, what, really? I thought you were from Deepnest!”

“No, not at all. I was just there for... personal reasons.”

“Faïda.” He grabbed her hand between his, holding it tight. “If you actually introduce me to a mantis Nailmaster, I’d love you _forever_.”

“Erm, sure.” Faïda didn’t really know what to answer to _that_. She took her hand away from his and turned around abruptly, walking away from this weird situation – weird for her, anyway. “Let’s get going.”

He chuckled – why was he chuckling? – and followed her.

The main road, that had been build for merchant chariots to pass, actually went around Howling Cliffs, so they had to take a small path that left it to go there. As they ventured into the night, Tystan pulled a Lumifly lantern from his coat to light the way. Now that they were coming out of the valley in which Dirtmouth was nestled, the wind was picking up, and Faïda was glad that she had bought a coat with her meagre savings. As they kept climbing, she stopped for a moment when she saw a tower with a light in the distance.

“That’s the Outpost,” Tystan explained as he followed her gaze. “They keep the light going so that those that are lost may find the way. A lot of lost travellers from the Wastelands come to Dirtmouth by following the light.”

“Huh.”

“I think it’s really exciting that they build that,” Tystan continued. “Can you imagine? Dirtmouth might actually become a big city, like the City of Tears once was. And the Wastelands could have roads going through them, and there could be commerce, too. It’s like the start of something completely different.”

“That’s not something that will happen during our lifetime.”

“Gee, you’re such a killjoy sometimes.”

“No, it’s just... that’s not what I meant.” She paused. Thought about her words carefully – they didn’t often come to her easily, those damn words. “We’re all tiny bugs, in a big world, and sometimes, it’s good to just have a place to be... don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t think that the Dirtmouth I live in is a bad place. I love my city. It’s where I grew up. And I love that it’s a place people come to so that they can start anew. It’s like... everyone gets a second chance at having a home where they can make a difference. So I get excited when I think about how big it might become someday.”

Faïda nodded. “You’re lucky.”

“I’m not, though. Well, I don’t think I am.”

“Shall we get going?”

“Sure.”

They turned their back to the Outpost and continued their way upward. The wind was a savage spectre, that had charged for miles and miles only to crash in those cliffs with a ghoulish howl. Sometimes, the snow from the ground was picked up and whipped in their faces, momentarily blinding them. They met a few bugs here and there, most of which were not aggressive, and Tystan was quick to drive his nail across the bodies of the Vengeflies that attacked them. So far, no sign of the great dangers they had talked about earlier.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Tystan cried to make himself heard over the wind.

“I’ll know when I see it!” Faïda cried back. “I think it’s just a little further!”

Right as she was saying that, they stumbled on to a ledge. Faïda backed away when she saw how far below her the lights of Dirtmouth were – just like in her dream. Tystan, on the other hand, walked right to the edge and looked down. She almost grabbed him by the hood to pull him away from the emptiness.

She was starting to miss the tight galleries she had spent all her life in, but at least she knew her way now.

“This way!”

They continued their ascension. She listened to the whistles and whispers of the wind, trying to hear her name, but if it spoke it was in a language she didn’t know.

She recognized the wall, even without the red filtering through the cracks, and drew her nail. Tystan didn’t question her, but he did look impressed when the dirt wielded to her, revealing the mouth of a gallery.

“That’s a walled-in den,” he told her. “A bug must have built it like that.”

She shrugged. She didn’t really care. She knew that there wouldn’t be anyone in it – not anyone that was _alive_ , at least.

They ventured in and, sure enough, there was the hole from her dream. The lantern’s light didn’t reach the bottom.

“It’s down there,” she said.

“Wait. Are you sure about that?”

“Hmm. You can jump down, it’s not that high.”

“Yeah, right. You go first.”

She shrugged again and jumped down. It was as she said, and she landed safely, albeit with a grunt when the impact shook her entire body. She looked up to Tystan and his lantern.

“You can jump down now, I’ll catch you,” she said. 

“Har, har. I don’t need you to carry me again, I’ll be fine. Just you watch.”

He gripped the lantern with his mouth and started to go down by climbing the hole’s dirt walls. Predictably, he slipped and fell halfway through, and she caught him – or rather, he smacked into her, which was still a kinder landing than the ground. The lantern fell as well and gained a dent, but thankfully didn’t break.

“Ouch!” he cried.

“Ouch yourself,” she said, rubbing the spot on her chest where he had hit his head. “I told you to jump.”

“I couldn’t even see the ground! I wasn’t going to risk it.”

She rolled her eyes and rose her arms in frustration. Why did he _always_ have to be this stubborn about everything?

“Do we have to go any deeper than this?” he asked.

“A bit further.”

She continued down the gallery, their path lit by the lumifly’s gentle glow. When they came to another wall, she broke it down even faster than the last.

“So, this is the godly place?” he asked, raising his lantern to get a better look. “Looks a bit like a dirtcarver hole to me.”

It was a cave of modest size. There was a pile of wood logs and an old fireplace. Indeed, this certainly wasn’t up to par with their expectations. But she wasn’t surprised.

“It looks like my dream so far,” she said.

“Aëgis showed you this place?”

“Well, no. Not that I am aware of.”

“Faïda!”

“ _What?_ ”

“I thought we were following her instructions or something! Not... not charging headfirst in some hole because of some random dream you had!”

“Hey, why are you screaming at me now? The dream was right!”

“But did you even think for one second about who sent it to you?”

“Of course I did! It’s fine! Why do you have to make a fuss about it now?”

“Let me guess. It’s that God, right?”

“Who else?”

“Ever stop to think _why_ they would send you, out of all people, and not tell Aëgis first? Of course they would send you the dream, you’d believe it!”

“Hey, I’m not _dumb_.”

“No, I didn’t say you were. But _think_ about it. Aëgis is a super strong Dreamwalker, right? So, if there was anything, say, _suspicious_ about a dream, she would be able to tell at a glance, right?”

“Right...”

“And now, we’re both here, and Aëgis doesn’t even _know_ where we are. If that God has any bad intention when they sent you that dream, we’re done for.”

“Well, I chose to trust that God.” She didn’t really believe that, but she felt as if she needed to make a stand against Tystan. “And if coming here is what want me to do, then I’ll do it.”

“Wyrm, you’re so... I should be dragging your ass— your butt back to Dirtmouth.”

“You promised.”

“I _know_. You know what? Fine. Go ahead. If you bring the apocalypse upon us, then I won’t be the one to blame. In fact, I’ll be getting my ‘I told you so’ moment if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“I hope _not_.”

She tsk-ed, but she knew that the conversation was finished. She knew that an argument like that was would break out eventually the moment he declared that he was coming with her. At least this time they didn’t end up duelling, which could be called progress.

“Now what?” Tystan asked. “Is there anything your dream told you to do, or are we supposed to wait for something to happen...”

“We start a fire.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s going to take a while and I am cold.”

He didn’t question her further, and she got to work. She pulled some firestones from a pouch she always carried on her once she had amassed an appropriate pile of dry wood, and had it running under a few minutes.

“Can I have the lantern?” she asked.

“Sure,” Tystan said. He handed it over.

She went to the back of the cave, chasing the shadows from the crack of the walls. Surely enough, one of them turned out to be a passage to a second, smaller room in the back. She rose her torch and took a look at the figure from her dream.

Curled up on itself, it was nothing but an empty husk clad in dark and red, but its empty eye sockets wouldn’t light up, as if there was Void inside of it. She didn’t think this was the case, but she did know that there was a different type of unknown in it, something that had either moved in after its death or that had been there all along.

“Wyrm almighty fucking _Root_ ,” Tystan swore when he came in from behind her. “Is that a corpse?”

“Yes.”

“What you mean, _yes_? You’re not supposed to be this calm!”

“It’s just a shell. It’s not rotting.”

“Yeah, how long has it been here, just waiting for someone to come across it?”

“I don’t know.”

“ _Exactly_. Oh Wyrm, I want to leave.” Tystan headed back to the fire as he said that.

She followed him, sat down, and laid her head on her bag for a pillow.

“Wait. What are you doing?” he immediately asked.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“How... long will you be sleeping?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gee, I sure hope you trust your God a whole lot. So many things could go wrong with this plan.”

“Tystan, that body isn’t a husk. Don’t worry about it.”

“How can you be so sure? What am I supposed to do if it suddenly crawls out?”

“There are no more husks anymore.”

“Well, I’ll remind you that they were still a thing when our parents were alive. And may I remind you that we just survived the crumbling of a melting Void Egg after having freed a God from its slumber? How can you be so sure that it’s not coming back?”

“Because... That shell comes from somewhere else. It has nothing to do with husks.”

“Oh, right, that makes it all better.” Tystan laughed nervously. “Don’t worry, Tystan, it’s not a husk, if it will do anything you will have never seen anything like that before. Hmm. Right. If that thing does _moves_ so much as a toe, I’m leaving your sleeping ass here and running all the way back to Dirtmouth.”

“I thought you wanted real combat experience.”

“Combat experience doesn’t include zombies!”

“You could specialize in undead. I’m sure there would be a demand for that.”

“Oh, _shut up_ and sleep already, instead of being a smarty pants.”

She smiled under her mask, shifted a little to get more comfortable on the hard dirt ground, and closed her eyes. Something told her that, even if it _did_ move, he wouldn’t run away and leave her at its mercy like he said he would.

She awoke in the same cave, but alone. She was immediately struck by how she didn’t find herself in the Dream Realm while Dreamwalking. In fact, this didn’t even feel like it was related to the Dream Realm at all, like she was in an entirely different place altogether. But what else could there be but Dreams?

She rose to a seated position. The lumifly lantern had vanished, along Tystan, but she didn’t need the light. Everything was basking in some sort of red glow, the type that seemed to come from nowhere in particular and that lit everything in a strange, shadowless way.

She truly had fallen into an alien world.

She looked up at the torch that had replaced the fireplace, high and made of sharp, twisted strokes. The moment she saw it, she knew what she was supposed to do, just like she knew that she needed to sleep around the corpse to come to this place. So she pulled out her flintstones and got to work on lighting the pile of coals at the base.

A single spark was all it took for it to be lit with a deafening woosh. The cave came into focus with crisp details, red, red like the flames of hell, startling her. The sound of a lone accordion reached her through the galleries, as if from far away.

She turned to the entrance of the cave. There stood a tall, dark figure, shrouded in smoke, with smouldering red eyes.

And that was the last she saw before she was torn away from the dream and thrown into darkness.


	9. Fire in the Dirt

No one, in any world Grimm had access to, was qualified to teach the Troupe Master how to play with fire. He was the unchallenged master of calculated risk, even when his life was on the line, and the sheer fact that he had lived so long showed that it always paid off.

Even if it was the first time that he decided to ignore the Ritual when coming to the physical Realm.

Technically, he didn’t need to perform it each time they left the Nightmare Realm, but this occurred so rarely that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There were times where his body had barely bloomed past his adolescence before he restarted the cycle and others where he had started to bow under the weight of the years. He did it for the Nightmare Heart, for his Troupe as a whole, and never for his own preservation or pleasure. The Ritual had been an unchanging response to each time the Torch was lit.

So when they settled in Dirtmouth and he didn’t start to prepare for it immediately, the Grimmkin were bound to start whispering. Grimm had sharp ears, sharper than what one would give him credit for; what was being muttered in the shadows had no secret for him. But no one had the galls to ask him _directly_ , and so Grimm had no explanation to give. The only one that might have a clue as to what was going on was Melancholy, and he knew that she enjoyed keeping secrets – especially his secrets. It would be a while before anyone would start to guess what was his true goal.

Speaking of true goal, he had lost sight of the Radiance’s successor almost immediately after they had started to travel. This did worry him a little, as his entire plan was dependant on him talking to said God, but not enough that he had to start considering a plan B. He would have plenty of time for that later. The poor thing might have been feeling shy. After all, Grimm was far from being the most discreet of Gods, especially when he travelled with his entire Troupe. And because he was... noisy, one might call it, he might give the impression that he was intimidating, even if that wasn’t the case.

That was probably what had happened, he reasoned. The other God had hidden themselves because he had appeared to be scared than what he truly was. Little did they know that Grimm had nothing but the most perfectly honourable intentions... for now. He didn’t know what sort of new opportunities could present themselves once he was rid of the need for the Ritual once and for all.

“Sir?” called a voice.

It drew him out of his reverie and back in the here and now. His red eyes shifted to fix themselves upon a small Grimmkin, a novice he had picked up last time they had come to the physical world. The poor soul had been of the type of orphan that burned villages to feel its warmth. Everyone might say what they wanted about Grimm, but he was the one that extended his arms to those that were cast everywhere else; those that called him evil so egregiously never seemed to do that themselves.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t we be going out to collect flame already?”

Grimm didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head, his unwavering gaze fixed on her. He didn’t feel like answering that question, so he was sort of hoping that she would eventually excuse herself and leave.

Alas, she didn’t read his mind.

“Sir, we need to go out and collect flame for the Ritual. The caller might arrive at any moment now, and they will have to feed the child...”

“There is no child.”

“No child, sir?”

“Have I _stuttered_?”

“No, sir, you haven’t, sir, sorry sir,” she replied.

Grimm was aware that she was small and young; that it was no coincidence that she was the one that was sent to say out loud what everyone thought about down low; that getting angry at her would only continue the power dynamic that had made her stand in front of him in the first place. He could have felt bad about scaring her. Alas, he didn’t, because if there was one thing he disliked it was wasting his breath by answering pointless questions.

“But I had no idea that you were feeling so zealous,” he said. “It’s rare to see someone that can’t wait to be sent to work, but maybe you are among those rare few?”

“No... that’s not what I meant. I was only wondering... well, if there is any change of plan and, well, if yes, what that plan might _be_. If I may know.”

“You may not know.”

“Oh, all right then.” Beat. “Then what should we do?”

Grimm sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is your name?”

“It’s Maya.”

“Right. I remember now. Maya, let us proceed to a... fun little thought experiment, all right?”

She didn’t seem very reassured by the turn of the conversation, but she nodded anyway. What else was she going to do, refuse?

“Very good. Now, let us imagine that I tell you to get me something to drink, what do you do?”

“I... go and get something to drink?”

“Will you?”

“Yes, I mean, it wouldn’t be very good not to obey a direct order.”

“So why are you asking me? Will you get me something to drink if I asked you, yes or no?”

“Yes, erm, I will right away sir.” She turned around.

“Don’t _leave_ , Maya, I am not done talking to you.”

“Oh, right, it’s just—“

“It’s still just a thought experiment.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“You are forgiven. Now, a second example: if I tell you to do a backflip, what do you do?”

“I... I don’t know how to do a backflip yet, sir.”

Grimm stared at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I don’t _care_ if you can do a backflip or not, you idiot! It’s a _thought experiment_. You’re supposed to _imagine_ what would happen!”

“I’m sorry! I would do the backflip, sir, I would try my best, I promise!”

“ _Good_.” Grimm breathed in deeply to calm himself. There was no use getting mad at her now. “Now, for the last example. What do you do when I don’t tell you to do anything?”

She stared at him, blinking several times. “I can... do what I want?”

“ _No._ ” She jumped at the harshness of his voice, causing him to soften it for his next words. “No. That’s the wrong answer. Why can’t you give me a single correct answer on the first try?”

“I don’t know...”

“You know what? Forget it. What I wanted you to say was that you did nothing. _Nothing_. Does that answer your question?”

“You were the one that asked the question.”

“ _No, I wasn’t._ You were the one that came to ask me if you had to get ready to collect the flame of Hallownest... remember?”

“Oh... Oh, okay, right, that’s right.” Beat. “So you mean to tell me that we are not supposed to do anything if you don’t tell us to do anything.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.” Finally, one might say, she was getting it. That’s why he didn’t like answering questions: it always came back to bite him in the ass by wasting his time. “Please, get out of my room now.”

“Right away sir.”

“And next time, only disturb me in the case of an emergency.”

The moment she was out of his sight, he felt a lot better. It wasn’t that he was an asocial guy, it was just that he preferred the company of his peers over the one of those that peed their pants in fear if he said one word too loud. And considering that Gods seemed to be a disappearing breed lately, he was starting to spend more and more time alone.

And, if he was perfectly honest with himself, it did feel a little lonely at times. What wouldn’t he give for a little company...

Maya came back into the room. 

“I said _only in the case of an emergency_ , Maya.”

“But it is an emergency. There’s someone that wants to talk to you.”

“To me? Who?” Was it the caller? The girl that had lit the torch? Usually, he would keep tabs on them when they partook in the Ritual, but he didn’t think that he would have any more use for her so he hadn’t this time.

“She said that her name was Aëgis, I think? She seemed important.”

Ah, so it wasn’t who he thought it would be – the caller’s name started with a “Fa”. Fara? Falia? Something in those waters, it would come back to him eventually. This made the apparition of this mysterious Aëgis and what she wanted to tell him even more intriguing. He had yet to make a public appearance in Dirtmouth, so it was a bit too early for her to be a groupie.

He would have to go and see for himself.

“Very well. Don’t tell her that I am coming, but do prepare for me to make an entrance. Is she already in the tent?”

“Brumm was waiting to see what you said.”

“Then tell him to let her in.”

In the few seconds between the moment where Maya left and the moment where he left, he quickly checked in his full-body mirror if he was presentable. Much to his satisfaction, cape billowed appropriately and his makeup was immaculate.

Showtime.

“What did you say your name was again?” Aëgis asked the circus’ Cerberus.

“Brumm.”

“Well, Brumm, are we going to have to wait much longer?”

“Hmm.”

“That’s not an answer, _Brumm_. I’ll let you know that there are very few people in Dirtmouth that would treat me as you have treated me. I am perfectly capable of finding that master of yours by myself.”

“No one comes in without permission. Those are the rules.”

She was well aware that one needed permission to come in; after all, he had told her this time three times now. Yet, she still wasn’t happy about it, and she felt that the situation was urgent enough for a few rules to be broken. Alas, Brumm here did not share the sentiment. She thought that it was a shame.

She had only been half-lying when she said that very few would have treated her as she was being treated at the moment, because she wasn’t sure if that was still true with everything that had happened here. Most bugs with some form of superior intelligence – an intelligence that allowed them to speak – could understand that she had mastery over powers that literally went beyond their wildest dreams. That was why they treated her with respect. That was why some had started calling her Priestess independently from her own will. That was why she used to be welcome in every home without the need for an introduction.

That was, until she took the risk of declaring herself for a religion that didn’t even exist yet.

She knew what she sounded like. Aëgis, brilliant as she might be, had finally let that Priestess title get to her head and was now seeking the power that came with it. Many people had seen the new God without knowing that they were. She could tell them what they were and that they were there to guide bugs to a new, brilliant future all she wanted; it was her word against the general scepticism of Dirtmouth. And could she blame them? The didn’t see the world as she saw it. They couldn’t possibly understand things as she understood them.

Her mistake had been to think that bugs believed in _her_ , Aëgis, rather than her powers. That was why she had assembled a crowd in the Temple on the day where she had thought that the new God would emerge to take their place. Sadly, she had overestimated her reach, and her plan had failed when the God she had bet so much on had vanished under moments. Now, she was being shunned. People had heard of the strange things that had happened around the Egg, and now they were scared. Of her, of what was going to happen... and of this strange tent that had just appeared, and the even stranger bugs that populated it.

And with reason. She had spent hours in trance, trying to find a where the God had gone, when she had felt the coming of this Troupe out of _nowhere_. Nowhere! Nothing came out of nowhere, or at least she didn’t believe that it was possible until this day. Butterflies, or those among them that were powerful Dreamwalkers like Bellrina or her, could open portals to the Dream Realm so that they swarm could travel without getting in harm’s way. Some foolish, lesser bugs might describe _that_ as coming out of nowhere, but a trained Dreamwalker could easily detect such travels. She should have been able to tell that something as massive as an entire circus was about to appear on the outskirts of Dirtmouth before it happened. But she had not. And now it was here.

But the problem went deeper than that.

When she had been but an apprentice, her master, one of the wisest and most powerful Dreamwalkers of his time, had taken her to a hidden part of the Dream Realm, a place unlike anything she was ever seen before. The Realm, usually so beautiful and full of light, had been dark and twisted, as if it had been scorched and torn to pieces at the same time. There, her master had sat down and had told her something she would never forget.

“Look around you, Aëgis. Every Dreamwalker should see this place, but not all have the strength and the patience to find it. I want you to remember this place, and I want you to remember how it _feels_ , so that you may show it to your own apprentice someday. It is the proof that the Dream Realm might look unchanged, but that it is in fact changing.”

“What happened here?” she had asked.

“Oh, if I knew, I would tell you, trust me, but I am no longer certain of the truth. As with many ancient things, the truth was passed down from generation to generation, but then it became fractured, then legendary. One could spend a lifetime looking for each piece of it while never coming one step closer to any truth they can be certain of. I can tell you the stories that I know of, but that will have to be another day, because I don’t want them to be associated too closely with this place. It is the only fact that remains today, after all, no matter what happened all those years ago.”

Her master never told her the legends that he knew about the place, and she had not asked about them. What she did remember, however, was how it had _felt_ : like she was being watched, like there constantly something that was happening right outside of what she could be certain to perceive, like presences, like dirtcarvers, ran around in the shadows where they couldn’t quite be seen.

That travelling circus, for some reason, felt the same way. If this wasn’t a sign that something wasn’t right, she didn’t know what was.

That was why she needed to see their leader for herself.

A little bug (was it a bug?) appeared at Brumm’s side to whisper something in his ear, and he nodded with a grunt. She had not heard what was said, but she was hoping that it was good news for her.

“You can come in,” he told her.

She passed him in earnest, not a fan of how cold it was outside, and ventured into the mouth of the tent. It was warm inside, surprisingly so, but she did not shed her cloak.

After a walk through a long, long hallway, she came into an empty space, the scene on which presentations in the circus were given, but it was empty and filled with smoke. She remained on her guards.

Suddenly, a drum roll. The lights of the stage, lanterns containing red flames, swung over her, cutting strange shapes in the mist. _Something_ was about to happen, something big, she felt it in her guts. Was this a trap?

A creature appeared out of nowhere, tall and lanky with a dark coat to cover his slim silhouette. She made a move in his direction, but he glanced over his shoulder and she was stopped in her tracks. His eyes! They were deep and fiery, eyes unlike anything she had ever seen before. For the first time since she had decided that she would get to the bottom of this, she felt fear.

“Well, here we are,” he said. His voice was low, raspy, as if forced through a wounded throat. “You wanted to talk to me, did you not? Here is your audience. Make it count, Aëgis of Dirthmouth.”

She breathed in deeply to chase away the fear and the confusion from her heart. She wasn’t sure about what was happening, but she couldn’t falter now. She knew, deep in her soul, that this was a cornerstone of her destiny. Whatever challenges this strange bug – was he even a bug? – presented her, she _couldn’t_ fail them.

“Who are you?” she asked. “And what are you doing here?”

“Who am I?” He turned around and bowed. “Why, my name is Grimm, and I am the master of the Nightmare Troupe. As for what I am doing here, we are but a travelling circus, looking for our fortune wherever we may find it... Surely there shouldn’t be a problem with that.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Oh? Well, it’s a shame then.”

“I don’t believe it because I know that you,” she pointed to him accusingly. “I may be a mortal bug, but I see any understand things that many others do not see. I don’t know what you are, but I can say that you are not what you say you are. That someone like you should appear now, of all times, is no coincidence.”

Grimm chuckled. “Impressive. You’ve yet to be wrong so far. So you’ve come into my tent to tell me this?”

“Not only. I’ve come to tell you that you must leave.”

“Leave? Why so?”

“This is the domain of my God, their _birthplace_. You have not been allowed to step on those grounds.”

“Ah, I see... Sadly, as much as I would love doing just that, we cannot leave. Not until we have been banished by the person that called us in the first place.”

“Called? Who called you?”

Grimm didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled, a large, sinister smile full of fangs, and disappeared. The lamps above were suddenly put out, leaving the stage in a dusk-like darkness, only lit by a red glow that seemed to come from below.

“If you ask who called me, Aëgis,” the disembodied voice of Grimm said, “it is always the same person: a lost bug, a bug with a soul full of doubt and darkness, looking for warmth and light... a flame.”

A cold breath blew on the back Aëgis neck and she turned around, expecting to catch a retreating shadow in a dark cloak. She was met with nothing but emptiness.

“There are not many that understand what can make such a person call us except me,” Grimm said. “You have asked me who I am. Here is another answer to that question: I am the one that comforts those that have no one else, the last home where the desperate can find a family. But you cannot understand that.”

A light, harsh, cold, came on high above her, putting her in a spotlight. She lifted her hand to try and shield her eyes as she looked for a face above her, someone that held the light on her, but she only saw darkness.

“I’ve seen thousands upon thousands of bugs like you,” Grimm said.

She turned around and there he was, standing in the dark but a few feet away from her. A hand emerged from under his cape, thin, elegant, that gestured in her direction.

“You _cannot_ know what it is like, to be in the head of such a bug. You can know suffering, but suffering is an obstacle for you to overcome. Never will it be part of who you are, unless all of society turns on its head to make it so. And if that happened, you’ll still feel that it is unfair, and you’ll fight for things to be the same as they are. That is the privilege that you have without knowing, Aëgis.”

“What do I care about what that bug feels? This has nothing to do with why I have come to you,” she answered. “Nor has it anything to do with my life. As you said, I cannot understand. So why are you explaining this to me?”

“Good question.” He snapped his finger and the spotlight turned off, the other lamps came back on, and the scene returned to normal. “I’m telling you all this so that I can be honest with you, Aëgis: there is very little you can say or do that interest me.”

“Because you cannot use me.”

He laughed; a ghoulish sound that seemed designed to give the listener a cold sweat. “Cannot use you? Believe me, you are not immune – only fools think that they are. You simply are of no importance to me. Perhaps in the future that might change, but that is unlikely.”

“I might not be of interest to you, but you are wrong when you say that I am unimportant. If you want to stay around here, you have to deal with me.”

“Oh? And who are you, that you may pose such a threat?”

“Why, I am the Priestess of the Black Egg Temple, and the first follower of the new God.”

“The first follower?” He chuckled. “Priestess? You are no such thing.”

“What? Of course I am.”

He laughed again. “Oh, Aëgis. I’ll admit that you are quite knowledgeable, but there is still a lot you must learn about Gods and their followers. Anyone looking at you can tell that you are no follower of anyone but your own will, much less a Priestess. Those are all silly titles you have given yourself.”

“So what do _you_ say I should do before being considered a follower? Prove myself? I know that this is my destiny. I have waited for this God my whole life without knowing it, but everything is clear now, and I—“

“Oh, would you just shut up? You are only making a fool of yourself.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You are a butterfly, Aëgis. No butterfly has ever been the follower of a God, ever. That is simply against their nature as free spirits.”

“And what if I chose to follow one?”

“You can choose a thousand times over that it wouldn’t change a single thing. It’s the God that chooses their followers, and it’s the God that puts their mark on them. And you simply do not carry that mark.”

“What sort of mark?”

“What would I know? I’m not them.”

“You _do_ know, otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me that I don’t have it.”

“True. But I don’t want to tell you about it. This conversation is finished and I have other things to do. Brumm, take her away.”

“What? But I am not finished—“

Before she could finish protesting, strong arms closed around her waist and pulled her back. She tried to resist, but she never had been the strongest physically.

“Let me go— I am not done here,” she told Brumm.

“The master’s done.”

That was the last words she heard from him; no matter how much she protested or screamed, no matter how much she tried to pry his hands off her, he dragged her away. Grimm watched him do, before disappearing in a puff of smoke, and no amount of calling his name brought him back.

She was thrown out the tent unceremoniously, and barely managed not to trip and fall on her face because someone caught her. She looked up to find that Bellrina was here, probably summoned from Grubnest for the same reasons than Aëgis.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Aëgis answered, straightening and dusting her cloak off. “They didn’t harm me.”

“What happened in there? The people at the door wouldn’t let anyone in.”

Aëgis turned around. Brumm, ever the present guardian, crossed his arms. He seemed ready to face down an entire crowd of people, should they try to pass him.

“Nothing good,” Aëgis said. “Nothing good at all.”


	10. Disquiet and Discomfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will probably delete this note when it's not relevant anymore, but damn it's been a while. I rarely do author's notes at all. 
> 
> A big thank you to all that waited patiently and the support so far. I've recently been struggling with some issues that have drained all my motivation to write. It's getting better, a lot better, but it took a while. But seeing that people still read, even after I had seemingly abandoned this story, meant the world. You're all awesome. This fanfiction is probably among the most ambitious I've written when it comes to the number of characters, themes and lore, so writing for it is both draining and rewarding, and it's extra rewarding to see people get invested in it. 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay and is remaining safe. Stay strong and keep doing you. 
> 
> Relevant concerns, while I'm at it: 
> 
> > Will there be Hornet?  
> No, even if that would be cool. I'm waiting for Silksong to know what happens to her after the end of the story, and who knows when that is coming out at this point. Once it's out and I've played it, I might reconsider. 
> 
> > When will you call the Knight "little Ghost?"  
> As much as I love the nickname... not yet. But I'll have to let them have a name eventually, and if I call them anything else I would be wrong to do so.
> 
> > You added the slow burn tag. How long is this going to be?  
> ... Probably quite long. I'll be lucky if I can finish this in twenty chapters.

There were the Archives, nestled in the middle of its lake of sizzling acid, surrounded by a ballet of slowly-moving jellies. It had been so long since the Knight had come here: last time they had, it was to kill the Teacher Dreamer in her sleep. And yet, the place had not crumbled once it had been voided of its purpose, no matter how many years had passed by. Like all of Hallownest, it was meant to last eternal. 

They jumped off the ledge but, right before they reached the ground, their cape billowed and an air current cushioned their fall into a graceful landing. Now with powers, they chose to move a lot more elegantly than what they had before their cocooning. There might be something regal about the way they carried themselves, but surely that was just a coincidence. 

Regal and quiet at the tip of their metal-clad legs barely tinted on the ground of Archive, they moved like the ghost of something vanished long ago. And they were indeed back to soothe their regrets. 

They barely cast a glance at the grand architecture all around them. The majestic columns, the sparkling brass and the quiet hissing of the acid lake outside was all decorum, meant to distract from the real secret that lurked in unspoken about this place. They jumped down the shaft to the lower rooms. 

Things were unchanged since they had last come. There were the jellies again, living seemingly untroubled live. They once had thought them to be mindless, but now the Knight could look at them and see them for what they were: meditative creatures, their mind not diminished but full of peace. They were an entity of their own, sprawling all across the Fog Canyon, both one and multiple. It was hard to describe into words even as the Knight understood them. And they were understood in turn. 

Monomon had done something extraordinary during their life, even more, impressive than giving their life away for the eternity of a crumbling kingdom: she had created the Archive. Elevated - or lowered, depending on how one looked at it - to the level of language by the Pale King, she had proven herself to be extraordinarily intelligent and insightful. The Archive was her magnum opus. It was built on the same principles than her former hivemind home, only smaller. Of course, for words to be coded into the acid, they needed to be in a certain form - a form not readily available to those without the tools to understand. Once upon a time, Monomon's students had been able to decode it with ease. Now they were all dead with her. 

The Knight understood it all as they walked through it, taking in the lingering traces of a life that had been so intensely focused on this place. There were other footprints as well, weaker and more volatile. Maybe Quirrel's was among them. But they all stood in the shadow of Monomon's figurative bell, and so were hard to discern in comparison. 

She had cared about this place so much that she couldn't bear the idea of dying anywhere else. And she had sacrificed herself in the hopes that it would last forever. 

The Knight drew their nail and slammed it down on a pipe. 

It broke cleanly from the impact, hissing acid spilling on the floor. An alarm, after all those years of silence, came on somewhere, alerting that there was a drop in pressure in the system. The Knight didn't seem to care. They broke another, then another, and as they stepped in the pooling acid it slinked away from their holy body. It even avoided their blade as they kept walking and destroying, walking and destroying. 

The information once contained in the tubes was still there, but jumbled and destroyed. Soon the words themselves would vanish, and the only ones who could still read what would be left will be the Uoma, if they cared to do so. 

The alarm quieted down as if realizing that it was crying out pointlessly. The Knight remained unmoved by the silence. It was walking lower, following the cascading acid, towards the central chamber. They reached a shaft and jumped down. 

They landed on the acid with a graceful spin and stood on it, its weight only creating small creases where their feet should have connected with the liquid. It seemed to skate rather than walk across the surface of the underground lake. At their destination, they jumped up, ignoring the nearby walls for support, and landed on the platform near Monomon's former resting place. 

His nail slammed down on the glass. It was so sharp that it cut through it and the pressure did the rest. A wide stream of acid rushed down with a roar, and the Knight jumped on it to ride it. 

The Uoma, that had always resided inside the Archive, were slowly passing through the door, like a strong of smoke rising in the foggy heights of the canyon. The Knight strolled right passed them and they seem to part way to let them pass, although that could have been a pure coincidence. But the Knight did look back at the end of the bridge, back at the last place that still held the full knowledge of the creation of Vessels. 

Such a thing would never happen again. And the rest of Hallownest knowledge could sink into the depth of the lake as well. There was no one there to miss it, not anymore. 

She had no idea how Tystan knew that she had messed up, but he _knew_. The moment she sat up from her slumber and sighed, he just knew. And he wasn't happy about it.

"I told you so," he said. 

"What?" She looked at him, and then realized that she had somehow given herself away, so tried to play it off as if she didn't understand. "What have you told me?" 

"That this wasn't a good idea. They always say don't judge a book by its cover, but _this_ ," he gestured at the dark, cold, miserable cave in which they had found shelter, "is not where a positive and well-meaning God leads you to. Have you _ever_ read any sort of adventure book? This place reeks of cursed... stuff. Energy."

"We're not in an adventure book, Tystan." She stood up. The side she had laid on for her nap was full of dirt, that she dusted off. "You don't know anything about those sort of things." 

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were some sort of God-expert. My bad. Must be the fact that there haven't been many Gods for a while, but I suppose it must be different in the Mantis Village."

"This isn't God business, it's Dream business. I'm following what I've been shown." 

Tystan breathed in deeply to calm himself. He looked like he would gladly strangle her. In fact, she hoped he would try because she needed something to get her mind off the growing worry that was gnawing at her right now. Despite her best effort, it was hard to deny that she was feeling it - even she could tell that this really wasn't going well. 

"I don't even know why I am here if you are just going to mess things up anyway," said Tystan. 

"You promised..." 

"That I wouldn't be getting in your way, I _know_ , and as much as I regret making it now that's not going to stop me from complaining. In fact, complaining seems the only thing that I ever get to do, so I'll do that as much as I want and then get the pleasure of seeing you go ahead anyway. Literally _nothing good_ has come out of you ignoring what I said." 

"Just because things aren't immediately bringing good doesn't mean that they are bad." 

"Excuse me? Random God set loose on the world? Weird dreams guiding you to weird places for... whatever you just did? And I know it wasn't pleasant. You were whimpering in your sleep." 

"I don't whimper." 

"You did, and I know because I was guarding you. I don't know why I didn't walk away yet, but I didn't. I get to tell you what happened while you were out. And you were whimpering." 

"I don't... you know what, forget it. Complain all you want." She pulled her brand new coat closer around her and started to walk away. 

"Hey, the fire-- The fire's still going," said Tystan. 

She turned around, walked to it, and stomped on it until it was off. She saw Tystan wincing, probably imagining that she had hurt herself, but she didn't. Was it the first time he put out a campfire? Pathetic. (She probably wouldn't have thought that about him at any other moment but she was quite annoyed at him then.) She, however, was grateful for the light when he pulled out his Lumifly lamp, even if she didn't say so. They moved out together. 

"So," he said, looking up in the tunnel from which they had dropped down, "are we climbing this now?" 

She looked up, then forward. The tunnel was still continuing in front of her, even if they were no light in the end. Wordlessly, she grabbed the arm of Tystan that was holding the lamp and lifted it. 

"Hey--" he said. "Oh, it's a dead end." 

Indeed, there was a wall, but that didn't mean that she was right. She stepped closer, laying a hand on it. The light moved dramatically as Tystan tried to reach for the tunnel above him. 

"Faïda, can you lend me a hand to climb? I just need a small lift... Faïda? Are you ignoring me, now?" 

She backed away from the wall, before slamming into it with all of her strength. She felt it tremble. 

"Faïda?"

One more time. She practically went right through when it gave in, covering her - and her brand new coat - in dust and debris. She coughed when it got in her airways and shook herself off, but the wind was once more howling in her antennas. 

"Oh." Tystan trotted up after her. "That's indeed a lot more practical. How did you know?" 

"Guessed it. It's weird that there would be a dead-end pointing towards the outside." 

She proceeded to pat the dust away from her clothes. Tystan patted her back to help. He seemed to have forgotten that they were supposed to be mad at each other. She didn't question it because it suited her. Despite her sometimes reactive nature, she didn't really like being mad with someone, especially someone right next to her. 

"Let's go back to Dirtmouth then," said Tystan. "It's almost time for dinner."

"Oh," said Faïda, suddenly remembering that she had food from Conifer in her bag. "I got stuff to eat already." 

"Where are you going now?" asked Tystan. 

"I need to speak with Aunt'-- with Aegis, and decide what comes next. Hopefully, by now she has meditated enough and has some answers as to what might come next." 

"Ah. I hope she does give us a little time to rest. You might have been sleeping, but I--" 

"You're not coming." 

"Why not?" 

"Because this is dreamwalker business." Not really, but she was only stretching the truth.

"And if I don't come, who's going to help you with your poor decision-making skills?" 

"Didn't you say that I never listened to your complaining?" 

"I have still hope that one day you'll learn." He placed his hand on his sword. "And a capable fighter to boot. I don't know the first thing about this dream business, but I can watch it for myself. You don't have any excuse to keep me out of this." 

"Aegis will not want that." 

"The decision is up to her, is it not?" 

"I know my aunt." 

"Doesn't mean you can talk for her." 

"Fine." Faïda shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you can't tell me I didn't warn you." 

"We shall see." 

As they argued, they were walking down the path leading down the Howling Cliffs; once again, they came upon the edge from which they could see Dirtmouth. Tystan walked up to it without a care in the world, seemingly without noticing that Faïda remained far behind. 

"What's that?" he asked. 

"What's what?" Faïda inched closer to the edge, trying to get a peek furthest from the edge as she could. 

"That," said Tystan, pointing to a large tent on the outskirts of town. 

"I don't know. Wasn't it there before?" 

"Pretty sure it just appeared." 

Silence. 

"Erm, just a thought," said Tystan. "You wouldn't have anything to do with its apparition?" 

"Wha-- What did _I_ do? How would I make a whole tent appear out of thin air!" 

"Hey, I wouldn't be as suspicious of you if you at least told me what you were up to in this cave in the middle of nowhere!" He threw his arms in the air. "First, you drag me off here--"

"You were the one that--" 

"And then you do all those weird stuff, and suddenly there's that strange-looking tent in town!"

"That has nothing do do with me." 

"You promise?"

"Certain. Aren't you the one that's all excited about having some new people in town or something?" 

Tystan sighed. "It's just... all right, I'm sorry I sounded like I was accusing you. I know it's none of my business, but I wish you'd tell me what is going on. You don't have to... but I'd feel better." 

That was disarmingly sincere. Faïda was at a loss for words. 

"I suppose it was the wait that got to me," continued Tystan when she didn't reply. "It was really creepy down there. Not that I was any less alert than usual, but-- Well, I suppose that I was a little scared." Beat. "It's the first time I'm on any sort of like... mercenary mission. You've probably seen loads." 

"Not really," she said. 

"But you were in Deepnest, right? That's pretty badass." 

"I... I suppose it was." She recalled Deepnest, the narrow, tortuous tunnels, the danger lurking at every corner, and how it wore down on her nerves. The place might have been mapped ages ago, it was still a nerve-wracking place. She wouldn't use the word scary for it, but she was starting to wonder if it was because the word had been banned from use by her upbringing under an old and tough warrior. "Wouldn't have called it that myself." 

"What else?" 

She shrugged. "I just had to do it." 

Tystan chuckled to himself. She didn't really understand why he was, but she didn't feel mocked by it either. 

"I dreamed that I was coming to this place," she suddenly told him. "When I was back at your home, I mean. It was as if someone was showing me what to do, step by step. And, you know, since we just let out a God, I thought that it was the right thing to do. But even then, I wasn't quite sure if I was in the right." 

He seemed surprised that she would tell him that at all. It took a moment for him to find his way back to his words. 

"And for what you saw in the cave?" he asked. 

"That's something I'm going to have to discuss with Aegis first." She paused. "But I'll tell you after if I can, promise." 

"Is it a good or a bad sign, at least?" 

"I don't know." Faïda's gaze wandered to the town below, fixing itself on the round tent on its fringes. 

"Well then, how do you feel about it? Intuitively?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"Well..." he paused. "It does to me. Surely you have some sort of opinion on it. If it's good or bad." 

She paused, thinking. "It's unlike anything I have ever seen."

"And so... it means it's a bad thing?" 

"I don't know." Beat. "I'm getting cold. We better go back." 

"Yeah. And check what that tent is about." 

"And Aegis." 

"And Aegis." 

They walked away, side by side. For some reason, this made Faïda feel warm in the chest, despite the biting cold. 

"Where could Aegis be?" asked Faïda. She stepped to the side to let a bug she didn't know pass by her, as they were once more in the streets of Dirtmouth. 

"Probably where we left her," said Tystan. "I'm thinking Temple of the Black Egg." He paused. "Should it be called that? Since it doesn't have an egg anymore." 

"We can call it the Temple." 

"But is it really that anymore? If there's nothing to venerate in it." 

"It looks like one." 

"That... does make sense." 

She was grateful for her companion's senseless chatter. She didn't feel all too safe around Dirtmouth, even if with each time she braved the streets it did get a little better. She knew what she was scared about, now that the newness of it all had faded a bit: that someone might call out to her and point out how strange she looked. But maybe those fears were unjustified. After all, quite a few strange bugs were roaming the streets alongside her already and they were doing fine. 

Although she knew she would never get _completely_ used to it. It was just too much light, sounds, and smells all at once.

They passed in front of Conifer's shop. Tystan hesitated. 

"You can go inside," said Faïda. "I'll wait." 

He seemed surprised that she would but didn't question it, and hurried into his home. Faïda sat on a bench not too far. It was one of those classic and durable benches that were spread all over Hallownest and that probably dated back to the Pale King era, which was nearly an eternity ago. 

She spotted something interesting. A poster placated to a nearby post. Painted in black, white and red, it read as follows: 

_A Firery Spectacle_   
_Comes To Your Town!_

_THE GRIMM TROUPE_   
_Starring The Spectacular Grimm!_   
_Reserve Your Ticket As Soon As Possible_   
_At Our Ticketing Booth!_   
_All Ages Welcome_

Along it came an illustration an acrobat, a juggler, a dancer, some sort of bug steed with a standing rider, all of them dwarfed by a looking silhouette in the background. She passed over the latter nonchalantly at first, then came back to it immediately. She knew that head shape. She wouldn't forget it so soon. She suddenly didn't feel like sitting down anymore, so got up from her seat and started pacing. 

She hoped that all the concerns Tystan had had since the beginning were unfounded. It was all a coincidence, she kept telling herself. Surely that head shape could be common in Dirtmouth and she wouldn't know about it. 

Tystan came out shortly after. "My parents wanted to invite you inside, but I said that you were pretty busy and that I was just dropping off to tell them that I was going with you. So they told me to say hi."

Faïda nodded. He didn't seem to have noticed her unrest, which was good. She didn't want to alarm him.

"Let's go, then!" he said with a clap of the hands. 

She nodded again and started walking. 

They made their way to the edge of town. There was the lift down to the Forgotten Crossroad, and in the distance was the tent they had only seen from far. Tystan stopped in his tracks to observe, and so Faïda copied him. 

It was red and large enough to accommodate a crowd with some room. Its front was marked by an impressive door that reminded Faïda of a white face with a gaping mouth, ready to swallow visitors whole. It was... an unsettling decoration choice, to say the least. There were other tents pepped around it, smaller ones, but they all shared that same dark red colouration and spooky appearance. Figures, wearing masks and clad in grey, wondered about, seemingly preparing and making final adjustments as they finished settling down.

"I am not feeling it," said Tystan. "This is just plain strange." 

"Yeah."

"I hope that Aegis has some answers to all of that. If not, maybe we can get them to leave in some other way."

Faïda was nervous. The more the situation progressed, the less she was comfortable. She didn't want to think that she had done a mistake, fear that she might have done just that. She hoped that it was all but a false alarm. 

Aegis would know what to do. She always knew what to do. 

It touched them like a fleeting caress, almost tenderly. The Knight turned around, but there was no one there. No one that they could see through the fog. 

They reached back at the touch, this time with their ether-like sensed, and they found a trace. Someone had been there, someone that had wanted them to know. But they were gone, erased. And the Knight knew that this was hiding more than total absence. Maybe that presence still observed him from afar. The Knight knew they lacked the power to see and feel everything as a God should. They didn't know why it was so. 

Yet, somehow, they knew that they would meet the presence again when they were truly ready. This had been a promise. And no matter who heard them as they stood alone in the hissing fog, they promised back. 

She, that had waited so long for a sign, almost missed it when it appeared. Should have that happened, all her waiting would have been for nought. 

Yet, she still slumbered on. She was trapped, and now that things were starting to move for the first time in aeons, trapped against her will. But she ruled through her sleep, and so the position was still advantageous to her. She only needed to make sure that she would catch it next time so that she might track the trace down and finally find Her. 

Could it be that the Lady's hiding place was starting to fail Her? Or had She intentionally slipped? The Slumberer didn't know, but those thoughts intrigued her; she expanded her perceptions, making them wider than the scarce few signals she was fine-tuned to feel. Hallownest entered her mind all at once, yet she sorted it out with ease. 

She recognized another trace, focusing on him only. So, he had decided to come and feast on this corpse now? Lowly vulture that he was. Grimm was only a step towards the Gods, no matter what he said about his origins. The Slumberer looked higher than him, even if she had grown attuned to him regardless. Her disdain for him was only made greater by his filthy greed. She disliked those that attempted to cling to her in hopes that she might redirect a sliver of power in their direction. As if that power belonged to her in the first place! He didn't understand her, never would, and she only despised him more for understanding him. 

What a joke he was. Disgusted, she closed her mind again and never noticed that a light presence, of hollow and light, slipped under her grasp. She turned back to her meditation, her slumber, and prayed that a true God might appear next time. 


	11. The Ember-Eyed Bug

It felt strange to be back in the Temple of the Black Egg without the Black Egg. Except for the pedestal that once supported it, there was no trace of it. In fact, the whole place felt empty and pointless after its disappearance, as if it had been made to contain it. 

Aegis lived in the back, in a small hut build inside the Temple itself. She wasn't in the main room, so she probably was in there; the little light at the window only confirmed their thought on the matter. After having exchanged a single glance, Faïda and Tystan directed their steps towards it. It was Faïda that knocked on the door. 

"I'll be out in a moment," said Aegis' voice from within. 

Relief flashed on her face when she saw that it was them. She stepped outside and closed the door behind herself. 

"What is it?" she asked. "Is something the matter?" 

"There's something Faïda needs to tell you," said Tystan. 

"Oh? Well, I think that she can talk for herself, can't she?" Aegis seemed slightly annoyed at Tystan. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that last time they had seen each other he was trying to counter her plans. 

"I'd like for us to talk in private," said Faïda. "It's about a dream." 

"You, a dream?" said Aegis. Her tone, full of disbelief, was like a sharp nip in Faïda's heart. "What sort of dream might that be? I've been patrolling the Dream Realm back and forth and I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary. Except for... well, I suppose you've heard the news about those vagabonds in Dirtmouth." 

"We've seen them!" said Tystan. "What's the deal with them?" 

"Who knows. I've seen their leader and he is among the rudest people I've ever met, on top of being... well, there's something just not _right_ about him. They are a lot more than what they say they are, and I don't mean it in a good way. He had his henchman throw me out! The big one that plays the accordion." 

Accordeon. That was the instrument Faïda had heard in her vision. Her stomach, already heavy with dread, sank deeper. 

"Must have been... horrible," said Faïda. "How do you know that there is more to them than what they say?" 

"Well, because he told me so! That strange bug that leads them was o-so-smug about how he couldn't leave until he was banned again by the one that had called them, whoever that might be. That is what I've been seeking out ever since. Only someone with _great power_ could have done such a thing, and now they are hiding from me." 

"It was that God," said Tystan, absolutely certain. 

"Someone of my importance shouldn't found their entire reasoning on some conjectures, but I'd be lying if I said that I don't think the same thing," said Aegis. "But I digress. What did you want to tell me, Faïda?" 

"I think... you already answered my question," said Faïda. "I had a dream where I saw them coming to Dirtmouth." 

"Oh, so they _did_ travel through the Dream Realm," said Aegis. "Well done, Faïda. I must have been distracted while that happened because I have not seen them coming."

"Yeah. They were only passing, though, I don't think they even paid attention to me," Faïda lied. 

"What matters is that we know now."

"Wait, weren't you supposed to tell her that without me being there?" said Tystan.

"Forget about it," said Faïda. 

"Well then, I can't be standing here all day talking," said Aegis. "Thank you for telling me this, Faïda. Is there anything else?" 

"Just-- Is my mother around?" 

"Bellrina? She is, although not for long. I've asked her to help me but she refused. She's about to go on another Deathguiding trip at Kingdom's Edge. At a time like that! With her talents by my side, things might be easier, but I can't force her to stay. You should drop by her place while you can." Beat. "I haven't told her about the mask. I assumed you wanted to do that yourself." 

Faïda nodded. 

"You know she's not going to be happy, but you are an adult," said Aegis. "I consider that it is your choice."

"Thank you," said Faïda. 

"I never said I agreed with it either," answered Aegis. "But I'll leave it at that. Have a good day." 

"A good day to you," said Tystan. 

Faïda didn't say a word as Aegis returned inside her hutt. 

"What's Deathguiding?" asked Tystan.

"It's a butterfly tradition," said Faïda. "They go to battlefields and bring peace to the souls of fallen warriors." 

"Oh. That's... butterflies do that too? Can you do it?" 

"No." 

Beat. 

"Because... you don't want to?" asked Tystan. 

"I can't do it. I'm not strong enough to carry them through the Dream Realm." 

"Oh." Beat again. "Well, at least you are strong enough to carry _me_ out of trouble." 

For some reason that made her chuckle. 

"Don't need to bring me peace if I'm not dead, so better keep doing it," added Tystan, encouraged by her reaction. 

"We better leave," said Faïda - she was smiling under her mask. "We wouldn't want to disturb Aegis when she's meditating." 

"True that." 

They left the Temple together. The moment she stepped outside, Faïda felt dread weighing her down again. She couldn't believe that she had not told her aunt the truth, but she didn't even want to start imagining the consequences of admitting that she was the one that had called the strangers to Dirtmouth. Aegis had said that the only person that could send them back was the caller, in other words, Faïda. All she needed to do to repair her mistake was to find out how. And then it would be as if they had never come. 

"So, you're Bellrina's daughter?" asked Tystan. 

"You know her?" 

"She's quite famous around Dirtmouth for being-- Well, for being single and pretty. Everyone sort of knows her by sight." 

"I suppose she's quite beautiful." Faïda had stopped being bitter about how she had not inherited her mother's looks ages ago. It was the lot of being a butterfly's child after all.

"She is, although she's not that much my type," said Tystan. 

"Good for you." 

"She's too, erm... soft for me. Like, round and delicate. Lots of people like that, don't get me wrong, but it's not my jam, you know? I like it more when someone is a bit angular, and also when there is a bit of _sharpness_ to their face. I don't know why I think that's more attractive, but you can't really change who you're attracted to, right? But I still like when they retain some of that roundness. Just, nothing too delicate. I look delicate - I've been called that - and I don't really like it on myself--" 

"Tystan, _what_ are you getting at?" 

"Nothing! Just-- rambling, you know. Are you going back to Grubnest?" 

"I..." She wasn't ready to face her mother quite yet. "I think that I'm going to walk you back home first." 

"Oh. Well I thought that _I_ could walk you back home, but if you want to do it like that, I suppose I don't mind. I'm sure my parents would even invite you for dinner if they saw you." 

Faïda was still carrying around the untouched lunch box that Conifer had given her. "I don't think that it would be appropriate. I better try to catch my mother before she leaves." And deal with what she had to say about her mask. This was not going to be pleasant. 

"Ah yeah, that's understandable." Beat. They got on the lift and activated it. "But I'm sure that they would be happy to invite you any other time. There's always a lot of food on the table because I got so many siblings, so you can come at any time and we'll probably have enough for you as well. You know how it is." 

"I don't. I have no siblings." 

"Oh, well-- I didn't mean you knew what it was to have siblings, but it's just a way of saying, like... the rest is easy to imagine, or how I don't have to explain the rest to you because you can imagine it. You don't take it literally." 

"Oh, I didn't know that." 

They arrived at the surface, under the starry sky. There was Dirtmouth again, as well as the tent. Faïda wished that it could just vanish like a bad dream. Alas, making them leave was probably a bit more complicated than that.

Tystan stopped in his tracks and stared at it.

"What are you doing?" she asked. 

"I want to go talk to their leader," he declared. 

"What? Why?" 

"He needs to be warned. If he's up to anything fishy, I'll make him regret it." 

"You can't do that." 

"Why not?" 

"You heard Aegis. You don't know what he's capable of."

"So? He doesn't know what I'm capable of either. And you're telling me that you wouldn't be willing to fight him because you're afraid of what he might do? All I want is to talk to him." 

"I'm not afraid of him." 

"Then it's settled. Let's go." 

He started walking towards the tent's face, then realized that she wasn't following him. He turned back to her. 

"Aren't you coming?" 

"No, unless you're going to do more than just talk to him."

He seemed to be about to say something before he shrugged. "Suits yourself." 

He made his way to the entrance with Faïda watching him from far. She placed her hand on her shoulder, ready to draw her nail and rush to the rescue if anything happened to him, but he did fine. He didn't even leave her sight; the moment he approached the door, a massive bug appeared, blocking the way, arms crossed on his wide chest. Tystan spoke to him and he shook his head. Even if she was too far away to hear what was being said, the content of their conversation was easily guessed from the way Tystan quickly grew visibly frustrated with it. He eventually came back to her. 

"He wouldn't let me in," he said. "Said that the master's busy, and nothing else. He's even more of a brute than you are." 

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Faïda. "Can we go now?" 

Tystan didn't reply. Instead, he looked back at the tent and what was around it. Faïda waited patiently but she already knew that he was up to no good. 

"Follow me," he said. 

They went back into Dirtmouth proper, but it quickly became very clear that they weren't going back to the map shop. Tystan was going through the little streets, sometimes peering through the houses towards the tent as he moved around it. Faïda followed, not liking where this was going. 

"What are you doing?" she asked. 

"I'm trying to get behind it without being seen," said Tystan. They arrived upon a tall wall in a dead-end. "Help me hop over that." 

"That's someone's garden." 

"It's not like we'll steal anything from there. Come on." 

She sighed and gave him her hands to step on. He straddled the wall, glanced on the other side, and nodded back down at her. 

"It's all clear. I'll be back in a moment, okay? You can... you can go back to my place and wait for me there, or go home."

"You're going to get yourself caught." 

"Trust me, I got this." 

She was going to tell him that his plan was stupid, but he had already disappeared on the other side. With a large sigh, she grabbed the top of the wall and heaved herself over. She barely paid attention to the garden itself other than to notice that it was indeed a garden and hurried up to him as he was already trying to climb the other wall. 

"Why are you here?" he asked. 

"You're going to get yourself caught." 

"I said I got this." He looked towards the house. "Now be quiet, old Sly's can be a mean one. And help me over that wall." 

She once more lent him a hand, even if this time he stayed a while with only his head peering over the edge to watch before he passed over. 

"All right," he said, "the coast is clear. Let's go."

She followed him, once more pulling herself over the wall on her own, and found herself in an alley of tents behind the main one. Sound of bugs moving about and chatting in their living quarters could be heard, but there was no one in sight. She followed Tystan quickly. They were not supposed to be here. She didn't even _want_ to be here, but she couldn't just wait for Tystan either. If she had things her way, she would be bringing him back by force, but now she couldn't without risking making a commotion. 

And maybe she did want to meet that troupe leader herself. It was better than to wait that things solved themselves at least. 

"It the ticket shop set up?" said a voice. 

Tystan was the one that reacted the quickest, puller her back behind a tent to hide. It was only then that she realized that the voice was from someone standing outside, someone walking their way. It was a soft and raspy voice that could be described as a tortured whisper, yet there was a power behind it that was like a punch in the guts. Every word was articulated with a meaning and a purpose. 

Tystan placed a finger on his lips but she already knew that now was not the time to be noticed by the owner of such a voice. 

"Ah-- It's not yet, sir. People are a bit, erm, unsettled by our arrival, especially after you, erm..." 

"Kicked out their dear 'priestess'?" He said that last word with open disdain, before laughing. "They'll be coming all the more for that, mark my word." 

The voices and the sounds of their footsteps were already wavering; they had come and gone without noticing them. Tystan mouthed "it's him" before he snuck after them. Faïda agreed and followed. 

"See that it is done," said the leader of the troupe. "We might as well give this dirt mound the show of their life while we're here." 

"Dirt mound?" whispered Tystan, outraged. 

Faïda grabbed Tystan by the shoulder and dragged him along as she tried to follow the voices from hiding place to hiding place. She almost lost them: right as they were nearing the back entrance of the main tent, she saw the flaps fall back together after their passage. There was no one that she could see, so she hurried to it and tried to take a peek inside. It opened on what seemed to be some empty backstage area so she hurried in, holding the flaps of the tent just long enough for Tystan to follow her.

She followed him as they snuck between props and seats. Shadows danced on the cloth walls around them, shadows that came from the inside; workers and artists passing in front of reddish, flickering lights. The half-darkness in which Tystan and her lurked was full of echos of distance voices. Above them all, the voice of their leader, that would come to them in brief flashes over the rumble of everyone's agitation. 

"What are they doing?" asked Tystan. 

Faïda didn't know. She had never been to a circus before.

They moved through the shadows and then reached the spaces under the gradients. It was a dark space under there, full of obstacles; progression was laborious at best. But at least they did their best to keep quiet. Faïda wondered what they were even doing. 

"Well then, you can unscrew here, and here," said the voice of the troupe master. "Oh, and attach those ropes right there." 

There were some mouvements on the benches above them. It was impossible, from their position, to see what was happening on the central stage of the circus, but they could at least hear what was happening. And a lot was happening, if one was to trust the sound of many bug feet pitter-pattering above their heads. Tystan ignored them as he crouched, gesturing to Faïda to do the same. 

"All right, here's the plan," whispered Tystan. "We can't get him alone, so we're going to rush in. You'll keep the others at bay with your big nail and I'll hold him at nailtip to get him talking. That should do the trick." 

"That's literally the stupidest plan," said Faïda. 

"Quiet-- You got a better idea, miss genius?" 

"I thought you wanted to be discreet and talk to him, not attack him." 

"If we surprise him he won't have the time to think about a lie he might tell us." 

"Everyone," said the voice of the troupe master. "On the count of three." 

"This is getting out of hand," said Faïda. 

"Three."

"This is going a lot better than I thought it would," said Tystan. 

"Two." 

"I'll do what you want," said Faïda, "but don't you complain afterwards--"

"One." 

There was a great groan, that came both from the benches around them and the chest of countless bugs pulling up. Tystan and Faïda's hiding place wasn't such a good hiding place anymore as the benched over their head lifted and they were lit in a red, trembling glow. They both turned around, slowly, their heart stopping in their tracks of one common accord. 

The troupe master was standing in front of them, surrounded by his grunts. Tall, clad in a dark red cloak, his wide, black eyes were fixed on the intruders. Maybe it was a trick of the light but Faïda had the impression that embers glowed in those pitch-black depths. 

The master spread his arms, revealing how he was clad in a skin-tight red outfit and long, black leather-like pants. His cape billowed elegantly with each move he took. There was a sly smile on his face. 

"Well then," he said. "Welcome, dear intruders."

"See? I told you that you would get us noticed!" said Tystan to Faïda. 

"And isn't that a good thing?" interjected the ember-eyed bug. "I am the one you wished to meet, am I not? Unless I've heard wrong. Too bad that you cannot possibly catch me by surprise, although I am wounded that you think that I might lie." 

"You spied on us?," said Tystan, indignated. 

"Do I listen to the squeaking of mice in my own house? The answer is yes. I even tolerate their presence, as long as their intention is only to talk with me." 

"Well... Precisely! Explain yourself!" 

"Explain myself?" The ember-eyed bug was chuffed. "Explain what? My life story? My most profound motivations and fears? Not on a first date, I'm afraid." 

That caught Tystan by surprise. "I didn't mean that but-- wait. What else would you do on a first date?" 

"Only fun things." The stranger placed a hand on his hip, parting his cape to reveal a long, shapely leg in tight-fitting pants. Faïda choked quietly. Surely he was toying with them, there was no way he meant something so... dirty. "Not that you would know about that. Either of you." 

"That's enough," said Faïda. "Tystan, let's leave." Beat. She addressed herself to the ember-eyed bug. "If the sir would let us, of course. I meant to stop him before he got too far, he's always bothering people." 

"Are you quite sure you're here just to stop him, Faïda?" 

She was mostly quite sure she had never told him her name. "Quite sure." 

"Is that so? By the way, you may call me Grimm, which rolls a bit better off the tongue than 'the sir'. As you have guessed, I'm the Troupe Master." He approached her, hand first, expecting a shake. He received none and somehow managed to still not look awkward - as if that had happened a thousand times already. "Something tells me we'll get along, eventually."

"There won't be any of that," said Tystan, "before you answer our questions." 

"What do you want to hear?" 

"What are your intentions? Why are you here?" 

"Why, only that? I'm but a traveller wandering where I am needed, adopting orphans and teaching them how to live their life." 

"Really?" Tystan seemed genuinely surprised, almost awestruck. 

"Isn't that what you want to hear?"

"Oh-- You lied to me!" 

"I did not!" Grimm dramatically placed a hand on his chest. "If I did, it would be a lot more believable than that."

"Well-- you're still not being honest." 

"That is true." 

"Are you evil?" 

"Tystan!" said Faïda. 

"No, no... the lad is right. That is a pertinent question. I'm a man in black with a long cape, with strange looking eyes, in a strange tent, that came with strange people at a strange, strange time. Of course, one can always wonder. I get this a lot, although rarely so openly." 

"As you should!" said Tystan.

Faïda smacked him on the back of the head. 

"Ouch! Faïda, what the Abyss-- apple! What--"

"And I am the brute," she answered. She turned to Grimm. "Really, sometimes he's very annoying. We'll leave now if you don't mind." 

"And here I thought that I could invite you for a drink," said Grimm. "Especially you, Faïda, after what you did for me." 

She felt her blood freeze. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"Now now, we both know that you are smarter than that." 

There was silence. She stared. Tystan looked between the two of them, one after the other, his eyes narrowing more and more with each time he switched. 

"You liar," he said. "You told me that you had nothing to do with all of this."

"I don't know what he is talking about," she said. "He's rambling utter nonsense." 

"You wound me," said Grimm. "I know that I passed you by quite quickly, but don't tell me that you do not recognize me."

"It was that weird place we went to?" Tystan turned to Grimm. "She made you come, right?" 

"Oh... Erm, I wouldn't quite word it like _that_..." said Grimm. "She only allowed me here."

"You _allowed_ him here?" squeaked Tystan, looking at Faïda. "You... what... Why? Why would you do this?" 

Faïda didn't answer. 

"Oh dear, seems like I created yet another rifle," said Grimm. "Almost unintentionally this time, too. That is very regrettable." 

"I can't trust any of you!" cried Tystan. "Someone explain to me what is going on before I-- I-- I cut everyone to pieces!" He drew his nail. His emotions were taking over. His hand was shaking. 

"Now now, we'll have none of that here," said Grimm. "You are a little too excited for my taste. Tystan, it was? Tystan, dearest, do put that nail away. You're going to get yourself hurt." 

"Don't tell me what to do," Tystan spat at the master. "You're all rotten to the core. I'll fight you if I must. I am the son of the great mercenary Iselda--" 

"And of the mapmaker Cornifer," interrupted Grimm. He stroked his chin, looking very pleased with himself. "Yes, yes... Sweet, pacifist Cornifer, with a heart so tender and soft. A little airhead. Trusting. The biggest dear of all of Dirtmouth. Like you, I presume?" 

"I'm not weak," said Tystan. 

"I never said anything of the sort," said Grimm. 

"How do you know my parents?" 

"I know many, many things." 

It seemed that, for a second, Grimm's eyes glowed, unless it was a reflection of the torch. But Faïda did feel a flicker of power from him, so fast that it was as if it had been an illusion. She wouldn't have believed it was real in another situation, facing someone else. Her hand went to the guard of her sword. 

"I know you want answers," said Grimm. "Both of you. I don't want to be the one giving them to you, not now, but you can most certainly buy them off me. Or ask someone that can give them to you, if you are not willing to trust my word." 

"We'll never do anything for you," said Tystan. 

"But you have already. You've watched over your friend there as she allowed me passage, have you not? It's a bit too late to pretend as if you are my enemy. You are not." Grimm presented both of his hands to Tystan as he spoke, palms up, to show him that he was unarmed, and took a step in their direction. "Things are changing around here, quicker than what you can imagine. Can't you feel it? Those old ruins are holding their breath in anticipation." He closed his eyes. "Hmmm... Yes. And powers that have remained dormant for too long are about to emerge as well. You must act quickly." 

"What is going to happen?" asked Faïda. 

"Not even I can tell. But there is someone that can. Someone... someone that is hiding from me. I too am looking for answers. They have been here. Have you seen them?" 

"The guy from the Black Egg?" said Tystan, incredulous.

Grimm's eyes snapped open. There was a strange expression on his face, one of twisted, overflowing joy, and hope. So much hope. 

"You've seen them," he whispered. 

"What about it?" said Faïda. She stepped in front of Tystan, her nail half drawn. Curse him and his quick tongue. He had said something he shouldn't have, even if she had no idea why it was so. "What if we have?" 

"You can find them again. They are the one that holds the answers as to what comes next." 

Faïda didn't answer. Tystan had the brains to do the same.

"Of course..." said Grimm. "I wouldn't be asking you to set out on your own without some of my help, seeing as it would be beneficial for all of us that you succeed in finding them. Maya!" 

A small bug creature - if it even was a bug - slipped to the front row of the crowd. She seemed a little afraid of what was to come next. 

Grimm snapped his fingers and she combusted. 

Tystan screamed. Faïda cried out in surprise. But it was done in an instant, the flames gone, Maya standing in front of them unchanged if not for an increased tremble in all of her limbs. 

"Have her, as well as a shred of my power," said Grimm. "May it serve you well." 

"We never said we would do it," said Tystan. 

Faïda ignored him. She released her grip on her weapon and kneeled, offering a hand to tiny Maya. When the creature hopped on it, Faïda lifted her and placed her on her wide shoulder.

"Good," cooed Grimm. "I knew that you were the most reasonable of the two." 

"Faïda, what are you doing?" asked Tystan. 

"I am going to do it," she told her companion. "We need to track them down anyway, we might use all the help we can get."

"Help? From _him_?" spat Tystan. 

"They stay here and do nothing," said Faïda. "I'm going. See you another time." 

"Have a safe trip," said Grimm as he waved his hand. "Thank you for everything. Oh, and Faïda?" 

She had already turned to the door to leave but stopped, just to look back at him. He was smiling at her. 

"When you come back, I'll give you some of the answers you seek," he said. 

She nodded in understanding, then turned around to leave for good. Tystan seemed of a mind to say something, scream, protest, or another pointless action, but he eventually followed her to the exit. 


	12. Seductions Around the Empty Throne

Well, that had been an interesting conversation, thought Grimm. 

Faïda... Faïda was easy to work with. Even easier than he thought she would be. Nothing like her companion, and it was a good thing that she didn't listen to him. Not that he was right... but Grimm would have to take care of him before his constant spread of cautious warnings would become dangerous. He didn't want to be chased out of Dirtmouth at pitchfork's end. The humiliation that would be!

Maybe he could seduce him some way or another, just like he was seducing Faïda weaponising her pride against her. The trick with Tystan would be to make him believe that Grimm was actually well-intentions, and then he would be even more naive than Faïda. 

Not that he actually believed that Faïda would serve him unquestionably. It was clear, at least to Grimm, that he was safe from her blade as long as she believed that they shared the same goals. Past that point, he would have to renegotiate the terms of their agreement... if he still needed her, that was. All he needed was the new God. The same God that had left their trace on her. Oh! She wasn't one of their Chosen - not yet, at least - but for Grimm, that knew what to look for, the figments of energy that clung to Faïda was clear as paw-prints in the snow. If anyone were to track them down, it was her. 

And her annoying companion. He too had been chosen, for reasons that went beyond Grimm's understanding. Probably because he had been standing there as it happened or for some equally silly reasons. That God was young, after all. They must have made a mistake. 

And once Grimm would find them... well, that was when the fun started. 

But now was not the time to ponder all the ramifications of his plan. Grimm was tired from the travel, which was why he needed to make sure that his next show came on as soon as possible.

With the intruders out of the way, he surveyed the preparations, making sure that everything was done the way he intended for it to be - at least as long as he was present - before heading back, or at least before he started to head back. He hesitated before stepping out, then turned around. From across the tent, he grabbed Brumm's attention and tugged at the link that bonded the two of them. 

Brumm... the oldest of his followers. The one that was the most tightly bound to him. Grimm didn't do friends, had not in a long, long time, but he wouldn't deny that he was attached to Brumm as one grew attached to their favourite tool. Sure, he was not perfect. But in the many, many years they had travelled together, the cycles of the Rituals that they had shared, Grimm had come to know and love every little crease and bump of his body and soul. 

And the strings he used to pull Brumm after him. He loved those too. 

"Brumm," he said once they were outside. "So you finally saw her. What do you think of Faïda?" 

"Hmmr. She would have made a bad chosen for the Ritual." 

"You think?" 

"Would have beaten my men too hard." 

Grimm laughed, ending said laugh with a brutal cough as it had been too spontaneous for his sore throat. Brumm remembered what it was to be mortal, which Grimm did not (as he had never been such a thing). As a consequence, Brumm was always the one that thought the most about his follower's comfort, that reminded Grimm that they were more than objects. Which Grimm often took into consideration! Simply... he didn't do it often _enough_. And that was why he kept Brumm so, so close. Wounded tightly. His dear Brumm. 

"But what else?" he asked Brumm. "There's more to it, right?" 

"I don't like how obedient she is." 

"You don't? Isn't that a bit of a paradox?" 

"It's too easy. She's watching what you'll do next I think. And she'll think." 

"You think so? What about her companion, that Tystan?"

"I like him." 

"You like him!" Again he laughed. Again he coughed. "You like him. How ironic." 

Right as he said that, Grimm opened the curtains to his tent dramatically and strolled in. The contrast between the chilly wind on the outside and the furnace-like heat of the insides made Grimm shiver. Oh, warmth... warmth always felt so _sensual_. For years, Grimm had consistently preferred the sheer warmth of his dear, dear flames to a lover's touch. Which didn't mean that he was deprived of the latter, or he wouldn't have teased Faïda and Tystan so deliberately about it earlier. The constraints of the Ritual, seducing more followers... He had plenty of occasions for _that_. 

He turned around, to his Brumm. They were alone, now, away from the others. 

"Do you like him because he looks like me?" asked Grimm. "We have the same body type. It would make sense." 

"He wears his heart on his sleeve." 

"Ah! I see. This is indeed something you've always wanted to do yourself. Especially around me." 

Brumm didn't answer. He looked away, too, but Grimm wasn't going to let him escape just like that. He could have brought him back to him by touching his chin, drawing him in. Instead, he pulled another string, one that was buried deep inside Brumm. And Brumm looked at him again. This time he was hungry. There was that glint in his eyes.

"Isn't that correct, Brumm?" 

"You don't want to hear it."

"I don't? That is where you are wrong. I do-- I do. I very much do. What is happening in that thick head of yours, Brumm? Surely a lot more than what you say, no? Brumm?" Grimm ran a finger alongside Brumm's mask, from its edge towards its centre, very softly, as if he had been petting the cheek beneath it instead. "Things that would make think that you would betray me - willingly, at that. It would be too bad if I were to hear you say what you really thought of me. That is, before I used a little trick on you..." 

"Hmm." 

"You can feel me do it to you right now, can't you? Surely you know me well enough to know by now." Once again, he pulled on those tiny strings, strings that couldn't be seen, strings that were tied inside of Brumm's mind. "You can't betray me unless I want you to do so. So speak! Speak to me about what you really think of me." 

"I..." 

"Don't stop." 

Grimm slipped his hand under Brumm's mask, pushing it up his face. There was the bug's lower jaw, so pale, so pale when it never saw the light - not even the light of Grimm's flames. The only one that could remove Brumm's mask was Grimm, of course, because Brumm _belonged_ to him. Grimm leaned over his servant and kissed him. Not on the lips, it wasn't in the rules of the game they played at the moment, but right at the corner of his lips, teasing him. 

"Tell me," he whispered. 

"I hate this," said Brumm. 

Grimm laughed. He laughed because he knew that Brumm didn't mean it. 

"What are you playing at again?" asked Brumm. "You should have given them the Grimmchild. The Ritual..." 

"Don't talk to me about it!" cried Grimm suddenly, startling him. "I know what I am doing. I _know_ what I am doing." 

"No." 

"You worry about me," said Grimm. He gripped Brumm again, this time a little more firmly, at the jaw. "You hate me and yet you worry about me. Stubborn idiot. You don't understand. The time of hiding away like dirtclawers is finished, you know." 

"I know. But this... You're taking too many risks." 

"You're worried. That's a little pathetic, you know? But also cute." He paused, looked into Brumm's innards quickly, just to check. "You also think that. That you are pathetic." 

"You're all I have."

"I know. Oh, Brumm..."

Sometimes, even a God like Grimm had to make concessions. Not because he was scared that Brumm might escape his hold if he didn't, no, that was impossible. But because, sometimes, even if Grimm wasn't sure he understood mortal's plight... he could see that he was hurting his servants. Especially his most trusted servant. He sat down on his chair and made Brumm sit on the ground in front of him, to draw his head on his lap. And Brumm did so, resting against him like he was a child. Neither were forcing themselves. Brumm really liked those moments because they were special. Grimm would do something like that with no one else.

"You worry too damn much," said Grimm. "Brumm, Brumm, Brumm... You'd get yourself killed, you know. If you weren't tied to me." 

Brumm just sighed and relaxed further on his lap. 

"I would have sent you with them, to help them," said Grimm. "But they would have been suspicious of you. Maya is more suited for the job because she is clueless. And small. And, to tell you the truth, a little stupid - objectively so. But I would have sent you if I could because I know it would have made you happy. To be able to see that they were doing a good job for yourself. To serve me even when you are far away. Am I wrong? It would have made you happy." 

Brumm nodded, still resting on Grimm's lap.

"How can you even say that you hate me?" said Grimm. "You care so much. Am I horrible to be pleased that you worry?" 

"No... no." 

"Hmmm." 

Grimm petted Brumm for a few moments more. The fires above them crackled. Grimm felt... soft. For once, in this harsh world, he could be a little vulnerable. It was a luxury that he could afford right now, for a few moments. And then he would go back on stage and restart the great charade all over again. 

"That new God in Hallownest," said Grimm. "The one that I sent Faïda, Maya and Tystan after. I am going to seduce them." 

Brumm snapped out of the relaxed trance in which spending time with his master had put him and looked up at him, adjusting his mask so that he might look through the holes properly. 

"I don't know yet what form that seduction will take," said Grimm. "I don't know them. But I need to do it. They have something that I want very, very much, that I have been waiting to take for a long time. I cannot let that occasion slip me by." 

"Why are you telling me this?" 

"So that you know. Because you should know. That is why I didn't restart the Ritual because I won't be needing anymore. Once I have what I want..." 

"Like an arranged marriage?" asked Brumm. 

"Yes." Grimm smiled wearily. "Yes. That is very much the same dynamic. Even if I have to pretend that I want it, or when I lose. But you know me - I'm the best at pretending, am I not?" 

"Yes." 

"That's why I will not fail. And then we'll never have to worry again. _You_ will never have to worry again, not on my account at least." 

"That's a lie," said Brumm. 

"Oh!" Grimm started to laugh. It was quickly interrupted by yet another coughing fit. But Brumm never failed to amuse him. "Why is that?" 

"Because you're always up to trouble," said Brumm. "And so I always worry." 

Oh, dear. Grimm was careful this time as he chuckled but he knew that Brumm was right. His little thick-headed accordionist knew him a lot better than what Grimm gave him credit for. And now he was pretending as if he was upset at Grimm for laughing, crossing his arms and waiting in silence that he was done. 

"Well, not that much, right?" said Grimm. 

"Hmmmrph." 

"Oh please. After that whole ordeal, I'll be immortal again. And you - all of you, all the Troupe - will be right there with me. As it should have been." 

Brumm sighed. "Just don't forget the show tonight." 

"The show!" Grimm suddenly stood up. That was true. "The show tonight will be the best I've ever put on. You'll see-- Dirtmouth is ripe for the taking." 

Sometimes, when Grimm took a lover, it wasn't another bug. It was a whole city. He seduced Dirtmouth under his tent during his show, then feasted on its adoration with wanton abandon. It made sense when one was a Higher Being like Grimm. In fact, it might even be considered natural. 

He... "posed" as a firebreathing magician. What else? Magic, at least when it was practised for a show, was nothing but tricks. Tricks dressed in layers upon layers of spectacle with nothing but the magician at its centre, orchestrating it all. And, in the case of Grimm, he stood in all of his glory, surrounded by the flames that he controlled with ease, knowing that all eyes were on him. He knew that all of _his_ attention was on the crowd. 

Fire bloomed out of his fingers, eliciting ooo-s and aaa-s from the crowd. In the minuscule world they were all trapped in, through all its layers of reality, fire held a special type of mysticism, an aura of its own. Not even Grimm could put it into words - as if he would try! - because of how he had woven the flames into himself, making them his appenage. Fire consumed. Just like he was consumed by his own mortality but, ah... how brightly he shone in the eyes of his spectators. 

They feared him. He knew they did. 

And yet they couldn't tear their eyes off him. They wanted him, didn't they? They wanted him in ways they couldn't explain, not physically and not as property. They wanted his mystery and his grand airs. Maybe all they were looking for was to understand him. 

They would never get such a thing without burning themselves. 

He didn't care. He got their eyes on him and feasted on the attention. Literally. For each gasp of admiration in the crowd, for every gaze that couldn't tear itself from him, he drew a little more power. Oh, it wasn't much, not if he compared it to what he used to be. Pocket change. But he was a poor man, after all. He wasn't going to spit on anything he could get, had stopped doing so a while back. 

He even fed on their cries for an encore as his disappeared backstage. Then would come the riding number, and the jugglers. But he knew that he was the real star of this show. Always had been. 

After the show, when he was sure that all had gone smoothly, he went to sleep. There was a place he wanted to see, now that he was sure that there would be no one to stop him if he tried to visit. 

He gladly sank in the embrace of the Dreamworld. It might have come as a surprise, to some, that he might like places full of light, but that was the truth. He was only crawling in the dark because he had to, and there was a reason he was so fond of fire. It was true that he had come to associate the specific shade of light, those off-whites, of the Dream Realm with his dear, dear sister, but that wasn't anything that could be corrected when all of it became his domain once more. 

Truth be told, he was sort of hoping that he would meet the new God there. He imagined them barring him entry, standing in front of him, all high and mighty, and Grimm would be given free rein to seduce him. Oh, to bring the new kid to his level, the one of the creeper and the shadow-peddler, what a power fantasy... Grimm could indulge in such dreams all he liked, he knew that they were unlikely to happen. Why hide from him, why play those games, if they would appear in front of Grimm so easily? Because those things were not supposed to be easy. Between Gods, they never were. 

The palace of the Radiance appeared before him, a superb castle in the sky, that basked in light. Only beings of great power could reach it, placed as it was out of reach from mere mortals. Unless one had a birthright to it, like Grimm, or was admitted in, he was quite sure that no one would disturb here. Not that there was anything of interest to him there, except memories. 

Painful memories. 

The great alley, with its pale columns, had fallen in disrepair. He ambled around the ruins, looking at what remained of the sculptures and the carvings, then at the building in front of him. It was grand, with a single tower that rose in the midst of orbited ruins. His sister had had such gaudy tastes. Or maybe it was her dear, dear followers that had insisted to change all the decoration. How could he know? Watching the Radiance's palace had always been a risky business, especially during his hiding. 

He passed the gate and stepped into the throne room. There it was, standing in front of him: the single seat that the Radiance had used ever since she was gone. 

He wanted it. 

He stepped up to it, slowly. He felt dwarfed by its size. There was a time where they had been two of them, both as large as the other, side by side. A time where he would have fitted with ease on that throne. Where he had been happy? Maybe. Happier than now, at least. 

"Stop right there," said a female voice. 

Ah. He should have known that she would follow him. He turned around with a smile on his face.

"Welcome, Aëgis," he said. 

She had just landed at the entrance of the room, was still folding her wings under her cloak. He waited for her to be done without comment. He must have been really deep in thought, for him to have missed her presence until then. 

"I knew that there was more to you than what met the eye," she said. She strolled in his direction for several paces before stopping. She maintained a respectable distance. 

"I never denied it," said Grimm.

"You tried to pose as some travelling circus performer," she said. 

Grimm shrugged and looked away from her, back at the throne. It didn't really matter if he had, not now at least, nor was he interested in what Aëgis made out of his silence. He was trying to picture himself on that throne, remember what he used to look like when he sat on it. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked. 

"Wouldn't you want to know?" asked Grimm.

"How do you know of this place.?"

"Ha!" 

Now that was rich. She asked him how he knew? She really had no idea of who he was. No one had any idea anymore. The world had grown ignorant of what used to be such common knowledge back then. Or maybe the world had moved on, simple as that. Grimm could remember how some older, more primordial Gods had vanished out of fashion when his sister and he had come into power over the Realms between body and soul. 

Was he meant to vanish as well?

"Answer me," Aëgis demanded. 

He turned around. She had walked even closer to him now, standing within striking distance. Not that she knew it herself. After all, Grimm's reach had surprised more than one and he liked to keep it that way. 

"You really want to know?" said Grimm.

"You have to answer my questions," she said. "No one to protect you here, like that Brumm brute of yours. Or I _shall_ get my answers, one way or another."

"Indeed, you don't know much of anything," said Grimm. 

"I know more than what you can imagine." She rose her head defiantly. 

Grimm watched her and her little act with amusement. He didn't answer, so that he could see it come undone too. To her credit, she held it through. 

"Walk with me," he said, turning away from her. 

"Walk with you?"

He ignored her question - what answer did she want from him anyway? - as he directed his steps to one of the many archways on the side of the throne room. There was a long hallway just beyond it, one that led to a balcony. He stopped there, admiring the view over the ever-shifting Sea of Soul far, far below the palace. It looked like it could be reached if one just jumped into the emptiness, after a long fall. With the way distance worked in the Dream Realms, it was a lot more complicated than that. 

Aëgis joined him, standing once more within reach. She had been too wary of him to dare stand by his side. She was warming up to the idea already: she did just that as they looked at the view. 

"I made this place," said Grimm out of the blue. 

She turned to look at him. He kept his eyes fixed in front of him. The Sea of Souls was interesting to look at, especially from this distance. When one stood above it, it gave the impression that it was flat but without consistency, like a layer of fog might be when looked at from above. But, from where he stood, one could see how it had gotten its name. It truly looked like a sea, with its slow-moving waves and currents drawing abstract patterns on its surface. 

"Of course," said Grimm, "it was a long time ago. But there's my imprint on it. It might have changed a lot during its time. But you can't change its base without destroying all the rest. That's why I still have a claim to it, after all this time." 

"You made this place." 

She didn't quite believe him and she wasn't even trying to hide it. That made him chuckle.

"Ah, yes, you'd be a fool if you believed me when you said that. How is it possible? It can't be possible." 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn't looking at her but he could guess it easily enough. He had met her kind of person a thousand times over in his long, long life. There even was a time where people like her would have been gunning for him, although he was the only one that still remembered such a time.

"This way," he said. 

He turned away from her again, walking up some stairs that climbed the side of the castle. Some steps were broken into several pieces from erosion - it rained, even in a place like that - yet the _essence_ of those stairs was strong that even broken pieces barely budged under his foot. 

She remained by his side. She was waiting for him to speak, maybe finally understanding that he was the one telling her what he wanted to say at the time where he wanted to say it. Maybe she did believe him a little when he said that he had made the castle. For one that he told her a truth without dressing it up in pretty words, or without a show to go with it, she should have been grateful.

They were now passing remains of the gardens on their way up. Not that they looked like gardens anymore, more like marble stones floating in space, in orbit around the castle they had once been part of. Something about their chaotic arrangement was a lot more soothing to look at for Grimm. They had always been his sister's idea anyway. 

Now that he was thinking about it, he was surprised that this place wasn't half-destroyed, with her being dead and all. Yet another mystery, that wasn't much of a mystery at all for Grimm: he guessed that, while she might be gone, her essence had been passed on to her heir. That was a common occurrence when a God died. If it wasn't the case, the universe would have collapsed into a chaotic mass of planes a long time ago, and they wouldn't even be here today. It also meant that Higher Beings spent a lot more time bickering now that they didn't have a universe to shape, which was a shame. 

Or at least Grimm, that had been a victim of said bickering, thought that it was a shame. 

"So?" she asked.

"Oh-- Excuse me. I must have been lost in thoughts. So much has been happening lately, and I was actually hoping that I would be left alone with my thoughts when I came here." 

"What is this place to you?" she asked. 

There she was, again, asking questions. She didn't realize how much of herself she allowed Grimm to see when she did so, and he was starting to think that he should use this to his own advantage. After all... maybe she was a butterfly, but she didn't have a foothold in Dirtmouth. She could be of use of him, perhaps. Not that he took her into account when it came to his immediate survival, but maybe it was time that he shed that mindset and expanded his horizons. 

She cleared her throat. 

"Oh, sorry," said Grimm, waving his hand apologetically. "This place really makes me think about so many things. It's been a while since I last came here." 

"Did you live here? Since you build it." 

"Why, yes. It was my home."

"All of this?"

"Absolutely."

She doubted him again. He could tell. Butterflies could move _into_ the Dream Plane physically, but last he had checked no one lived there anymore, at least not in large settlements that were easy to find. The idea might appear strange to someone that had spent their whole life bound to the material plane. 

"Fine, I'll bite into your stories," she said after a while. "Why don't you live here anymore? I would know if you did still since I visited the place several times and never saw you here."

"Oh? You come here?" 

"Of course. It's such a strange place - a castle in the ether. I've tried to understand more about it ever since I heard of it." 

"I'm impressed," said Grimm. "That you would waste so much energy for such a meaningless pile of rocks shows commitments." 

"It's not meaningless. You're here too." 

"It's an absolute waste of space." 

"No. There is nothing else like it in all of the Dream Realm, and reaching it is a proof of strength among my kind. It is not meaningless, to you or me." 

He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. She stopped too, just one or two steps below him. 

"What you do you know of what is meaningful to me?" asked Grimm. "You don't even believe half of what I say. Really, your arrogance is appealing." 

"Arrogance?" asked Aëgis. "Is that what you call critical thinking?" 

"You'll never become a moth at that rate," said Grimm. 

He knew that he was attacking her. He needed to sap that unshakable confidence of hers if he wanted to get anywhere with her. He needed for her to open up so that he could present her with an easy solution. He had not been expecting the shock on her face but he had been hoping for it because that was the opening he had been looking for. 

She knew what a moth was. 

"There is a chance that I might become one?" she asked.

"Not at this rate." 

"But it is possible?" 

He looked at her from top to bottom, taking all of her appearance in. She was pretty, for a mortal. In the middle of her life, maybe, but she had yet to decline in strength or vitality. He made note of all of that. She was a little prettier, in Grimm's eyes, when struggled to hide her hope. Her greed for power. So strong, yet so eager. 

"It is," he eventually said. 

She stared at his face, her eyes shifting from one eye to the other as if chasing more information. He let her do. Waited for her to fall very, very patiently. 

"How do you do?" she asked. "How can I become one?" 

There it was. That little nibble on the line he had been waiting for-- he refrained his excitement. Now was not the time to reel her in. Yet. 

"It's a long process," said Grimm. "One that involves... things that might not be of this world anymore." 

"Is that why there are no more moths?"

"Really? No more moths? I didn't know." 

"There are?" 

"Why do you ask me? How would I know?" 

"You know." 

Grimm chuckled. 

"Answer me," demanded Aëgis. 

"We're almost at the top." 

"What's at the top?" 

"The top." 

Grimm resumed his walking. She followed closely, so close that she was almost in his shadow. Almost. 

The top wasn't exactly the top, there was a majestic spire that rose above them still, but this was the furthest they could go by foot. It was a perfectly round ring of stone with no ledges to stop someone from falling, falling, falling until they were nothing but a splatter of gore on the marble so far below. If one were to lean forward and look through the centre of the ring, they would spot the space in front of the throne all the way at the bottom. Grimm did just that, pretending for a second that he couldn't fly down.

"You aren't answering any of my questions," said Aëgis. "What was this place?" 

"You don't believe my answers." 

"You are not giving me any answers to believe." 

Grimm straightened, looking around him. They were high enough that they had passed the floating ruins. All around them was the vague, distant landscape of the Dream Realm.

"What was your question again?" asked Grimm.

"What is this place?" 

"Hmm. That's a difficult one. Another one."

"How does one become a moth?" 

"Another." 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Thinking. That one I already answered." 

"Who are you?" 

Grimm slowly turned to Aëgis, looking at her in the face. She tried to appear as neutral as she could but she was betraying herself with the small twitches as the edge of her mouth. He didn't know what sort of expression she was trying to repress. Fear, maybe? 

"My name is Grimm," he said. "I am the Nightmare King." 

She waited for more. But what more was there to say? And yet she still didn't recognize him. Suddenly, Grimm felt sad. Maybe the time had really come for him to vanish, like so many other Higher Beings before him. 

"Do you have another question?" he asked. 

"What do you want with Dirtmouth?" she asked. 

"I don't know." 

"That is a lie." 

"I got to insist. I don't know. I have not decided yet." 

"So why did you go there, if you don't know?" 

"My goal is not Dirtmouth. And, before you ask, I will not reveal it to you." 

"Why wouldn't you?" 

"You know why." 

"If it was a goal that served good then I wouldn't have to stop you. You could just tell me, and that would be that." 

"Oh. So you are the judge of what is good and what is not?" 

"We are all judges of what is good and evil." 

Grimm chuckled, then shook his head. "Good and evil," he muttered. "What childish concepts." 

"Dare tell me that they don't exist. I'll wait." 

"They do not. I would have met the Gods that preside over them by now. Or at least _one_ Higher Being that carries them out in the world. Instead, anyone can just declare that they are the judge of good and evil because they feel fit for the task." 

"So, you are saying that one should be capable of doing as they please just because they can?"

"Of course." 

"Only evil people say that." 

Maybe she wasn't worth seducing her over to his side, he thought. He didn't have the time to pierce her armour of principles. His sister would have _loved_ her, he was certain of it. 

"This conversation is finished," he said. 

"It is not," she said. "Because, if it is, it means that I must put an end to whatever you intend to do." 

"You must?" 

"I said what I said." 

"What an amusing idea." 

"I will." 

Grimm shrugged and jumped into the ring.

She cried out in surprise but jumped after him. Of course she did. To save him or catch up with him, Grimm didn't know, and he never would. 

Because she was stopped. Intercepted, actually, by someone that had been there since the start, that had hidden against a wall, waiting to intervene. Someone that did stand in Grimm's shadows with her eyes wide open, unlike Aëgis. 

When Grimm heard a cry of surprise behind him, that was when he deployed his wings and stopped his freefalling, turning his downward trajectory into one that raised up. He landed on a ledge, the perfect vantage point for him to see what would come next. 

Melancholy landed next to him. In the Dream Realm, while using her spiritual form, she was striking, glowing red with power from the Nightmare Realm. She was the brightest thing in the dimly-lit gallery, giving a somewhat hellish tint to the whole thing. 

Aëgis landed opposite from them, on a ledge a little higher than theirs. 

"What is that?" she asked. 

Melancholy chuckled. Grimm chuckled. Neither had to answer her. 

"What are you?" said Aëgis, this time asking the question directly. 

There was no denying the hate on her features. She might have no name to give Melancholy, but she could recognize her twisted nature, the traces that Grimm had left on her already broken form and the power he had kindled anew. It was true that Melancholy, when she dared showing herself in her true form, was a work of dark art. 

"I believe that I... that _we_ were leaving," said Grimm. 

"I would like to speak with her some more," said Melancholy. "She's quite an interesting one." 

"No," said Grimm, firmly. For a fraction of a second, he thought Melancholy was going to falter but she didn't, not in front of the enemy. "I've carefully curated what I chose to tell her. You would ruin my efforts."

"She's not going to follow you," said Melancholy. "What's the point?" 

"I will never follow you," said Aëgis. 

"We know," said Melancholy. 

"Another time," said Grimm. "I have other matters to tend to. Besides, she's rather excited at the moment. I wouldn't want her to hurt you." 

"Very well, master Grimm." 

Melancholy rose one of her torn wings, as if to shield him, but really she was getting ready to leave the Dream Realm. Aëgis realized, too late, that this was what she meant to do, and she could only cry out in alarm. 

She, as well as that blasted castle, vanished from sight. 

They reappeared in the Nightmare Realm, in Melancholy's home. Immediately, she dropped to her knees. For a moment, Grimm feared that she might be hurt or weak, but she was only bowing to him, even gripping the edge of his wings. 

"Master," she said. Her voice was hoarse, wanton. "There is a favour-- I must ask that of you. Forgive my forwardness." 

"A favour?" This surprised Grimm but, when he directed his inner gaze to Melancholy, he could see that she burned with desire. There was something that she wanted above all else. "Spill it out." 

Melancholy looked up at Grimm, her wide, blind eyes wide open. 

"I must have her," she said. "This butterfly." 

"Aëgis?" 

"Aëgis," said Melancholy, tasting her name. 

"Why the fuck do you want Aëgis?" 

Melancholy flinched at the use of crass language, but Grimm really couldn't help it. She sounded like some lunatic. He would have never expected sombre Melancholy to act in this way. 

"She is beautiful," she said. "Powerful. Young. Impertinent and demanding. She reminds me of Em-- The one that cast me down. I must have her." 

So that was what it was. Melancholy was, for one of Grimm's followers, pretty mellow save for one thing. Even if Grimm had restored her some of her former glory, in his own way, and had allowed her to strike down her former enemies, she would sometimes fall back in her obsession over her revenge. She wanted a doll to replay what had happened to her. 

"I cannot give her to you," said Grimm. "What even made you think that she's mine?" 

"But when you will be powerful... Surely..."

"Surely... what? She is a butterfly. As long as she doesn't give herself to a God, she will remain untouchable. It would be like trying to grab running water. That is their nature: They only follow their own song."

"But she's already started to turn away from the song, I can see it. She'll become a moth eventually, and then--" 

Melancholy's feverish blabber stopped when he raised a single finger. 

"You don't know that," said Grimm. "I cannot promise you that, because I don't know if she will ever be mine. I don't think that it will be likely." 

Melancholy lowered her head in defeat. "I understand."

"However, it is true that she is becoming a thorn in my side. She's reached the castle without an invitation or assistance. In my state, if she decided to attack me, she could hurt me and hinder my plans. I cannot give her to you. If you want her, you should claim her for yourself."

Melancholy looked up once more, hope on her face. If she wasn't already bound to him body and soul, she would be so easy to seduce, so vulnerable. 

"I was planning of using the power I've collected for myself," said Grimm, "but if you can distract her, that will be a good use of it regardless. I would have squandered it on pointless searches through the Kingdom anyway." 

"Master Grimm..." 

"No need to thank me. Take it and get her out of my sight, through any means possible."

He offered his hand. She took it hers - she was shaking lightly as she did - and kissed its palm, showing her allegiance to him. He hummed in approval and bestowed his dark gift upon her. 

Flames erupted from under her lips, wrapping around her almost lovingly. She didn't move a single muscle as they ran down the cloak under which she hid her laminated wings, her fur, her face. Only went they slowly disappeared, seemingly dying out, that she drew away and rose to her feet. 

She looked younger. Stronger. She carried her antennas higher and there was more _mass_ to her, both physically and spiritually. When she turned her face up, her eyes were no longer white but black, burning in a way very similar to Grimm's. But her arm was still missing, and her wings were still skeletal husks of their former glory. Those things couldn't be fixed, not with Grimm's current level of power. But she didn't mind those. 

"Thank you, master Grimm," she said. 

"And don't tell her too much," said Grimm. "I'll be expecting you to be quite careful with her. Otherwise, I will be the one to tear out what remains of your wings. Am I clear?" 

"Absolutely," she said with a slight bow. "I will not deceive you." 


End file.
